


A Beautiful Collapse

by maya_talbot



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Chronic Pain, Dream is a bitch, Illness, King Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), King GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Knight Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Past Abuse, Ranboo and Technoblade, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Violence, Wilbur Soot Angst, Will add tags as the story progresses, creation of l'manberg, philza minecraft is a bad father, sick wilbur, tommy and wilbur live alone, tubbo is a lonely beekeeper, wilbur and george content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 79,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maya_talbot/pseuds/maya_talbot
Summary: Wilbur and Tommy run away from home to escape their toxic household and find themselves in a new life where nothing is fair, and all is war.content warnings: abuse, semi-graphic depictions of violence, illness, derealization, death, depression, self-injury, suicidal ideationnamed after the song "a beautiful collapse" by we lost the sea
Comments: 61
Kudos: 238





	1. PROLOGUE

Heroes never get scared. They shouldn’t, as their priority is to help people and save the world. No time for being afraid when you’re protecting the Earth and bearing the future of human lives on your shoulders.

Tommy had always wished to be a hero. His grandparents used to tell him bedtime stories about Greek and Roman heroes – the mythical lives of Theseus, Achilles, Perseus lived in his mind and reminded him to keep fighting and keep going, to stay undeterred despite any obstacle that got in his way. And there were lots of them.

When he was a child, he never felt appreciated by his father Phil. His older brother Techno received all the favoritism, while Tommy and Wilbur got overlooked and forgotten, feeling alienated inside their own family which was meant to provide them a safe space. They were shouted at for the most miniscule mistakes, denied meals and a decent place to sleep as a way of punishment for not finishing chores or homework. Phil never took care of Wilbur when he got sick, and never told Tommy a single positive thing about him. Eventually, Wilbur couldn’t take it any longer.

Five months after Tommy’s tenth birthday, sixteen-year-old Wilbur told him to pack his bags. Even though the younger was perplexed, he obeyed and soon they were on their feet, running as far away from home as physically possible, living on the streets for months and hiding in forests, stealing food and looting villages in order to survive. Phil had never even attempted to look for them.

Wilbur was the only person who protected and took care of Tommy. He trusted him with his life and followed him wherever he decided to go. However, after some time, he got sick of lacking a home. Survival was more difficult than they had expected. Wilbur knew it, too. But in their fragile, broken minds, this was still better than being home.

Tommy swore that someday, somewhere, he would be somebody’s hero. He would cancel out his father’s negative actions and restore balance in the Universe. This was no villain origin story, he cared about his moral compass too much and kept a tight grip on it, patching it up every time it started to fracture.

This was fine. Having a home was overrated anyway.


	2. The Two-Year Mark

The 14th of September marked exactly two years since the two had abandoned their ‘home’ and begun living in the wilderness. By now, they had a little base on the outskirts of a faraway village in the southwest, naming it Logstedshire. The base consisted of a dark oak shed built by Wilbur, and a white tent which Tommy had creatively named ‘Tent’. Even though they didn’t have much when it came to material possessions, their brotherly bond was stronger than ever considering all the things they had to live through side by side.

It was yet another foggy day, humid and chilly at the same time, and they were having a day off. Luckily, they had enough food to allow themselves some downtime. Tommy was too tired to work. Wilbur was constantly working anyway, he had to have something in his hands to mess with as he would otherwise go insane. Performing menial tasks was his idea of taking a break.

“Hey, Tommy,” Wilbur muttered his sibling’s name as he was mending a rip on his trousers absentmindedly, not realizing he fucked up the patch. “It’s my birthday today.”

“I thought it was in October?” The younger looked up with confusion glistening behind the blueness of his eyes. “No, wait. Sorry. I forgot. Happy birthday, I guess.” He shook his head and corrected himself.

“I have two birthdays, you know. Since Dad fucked up and got me registered late. I’m both a Virgo and a Libra.”

“Makes sense.” Tommy retorted sarcastically. “Don’t you hate astrology?”

“I hate a lot of things.” Wilbur shrugged, and threw the unfinished ripped trousers to the side next to their tent. “Doesn’t stop me from talking about them. Like anteaters, for example.”

Tommy let out a groan and fell back onto the grass. “Please, shut the fuck up.” He couldn’t handle Wilbur going on another massive rant about how much he hated anteaters. Or any other rant, for that matter. The fixation on eating sand was a long one, until Wilbur realized he had no functioning taste buds and that’s why he could enjoy sand like it was a piece of bread.

“No, no, you have to listen to whatever monologue comes to me for the next sixteen hours. I am officially an adult and you’re obliged to pay attention to me.”

“Does that mean we can get drunk now since you’re eighteen?” Tommy inquired, sitting up only slightly on the ground.

“Tommy, we don’t- we don’t have money to go into a fucking pub. We can steal anytime; it doesn’t take adult supervision to grab a bottle of vodka.” Wilbur threw him a glance that clearly said ‘you’re an idiot’. “And I am not letting my twelve-year-old brother drink alcohol.”

“You’re a real fucking pussy, you know that Wilbur?” The younger crossed his arms.

Wilbur only chuckled under his breath, he could never resist a smile when Tommy said something stupid or cursed him out. Even though going on deadly adventures with a literal child was the most annoying thing in the Universe, he loved Tommy more than anything. They only had each other. It was always going to be them against the world. Sometimes the fondness he had for his brother made him upset, knowing he couldn’t protect him forever and that it was his fault they didn’t have a cozy two-bedroom apartment with a fireplace, nor a hiding place from the biggest winter storms and the hottest summer days. But he comforted himself with one thought – at least Phil and Techno couldn’t hurt them here.

“Why’d you go silent?” Tommy got up and waved a hand in front of Wilbur’s crossed eyes. The older jolted upwards and broke the endless train of his thoughts.

“Zoned out,” he sighed and stretched, feeling tired after only being awake for an hour. A yawn escaped his mouth and he blinked away the tears of exhaustion pricking his eyes. “I barely slept.”

“I slept like a log, why did you sleep badly? Did you have nightmares again? Are you alright?” Tommy’s eyebrows drew together as a worrisome tone spilled over his words.

“You ask a lot of questions, Tommy.”

“Thank you. Hey, do you want to go for a walk? Yesterday I was walking and I found this isolated cottage house. So I knocked on their door, but no one answered. It was all nice and yellow and shit. I want to come back and meet the person. I lack friends, you know. I only hang out with this old dramatic loser who wears a girl coat.”

Wilbur was used to the boy’s rambles, but sometimes he couldn’t keep up. Especially when his brain was fuzzy, and nothing made sense. “What? I-I mean yeah, sure. Let’s go for a walk. Maybe we could steal some of their food on the way back.” He got up from the ground in a slow movement and felt his bones crackle like he was fifty. Brushing off the dust from his legs, he let Tommy grab his hand to stand up.

“Maybe we can ask nicely, and they’ll give us food,” Tommy suggested. “How come you never use that tactic?”

“Because I’m not a naïve idiot like you.” Wilbur looked down and gave Tommy a stern look, grabbing his ancient, worn out backpack and throwing it over his shoulder.

“I think I’ll try it anyway. I don’t care about your opinions.”

“Eh, why not. You can be a distraction while I do the actual theft.”

“Fine.” The boy in the red shirt scoffed.

“In which direction is the house?”

“Uh, somewhere over there,” Tommy pointed towards the south.”

They strolled along the plains in silence for a while, Wilbur getting lost in all the smells and sights and sounds, appreciating the full sensory experience of the nature around him and feeling grateful for the freedom, the ability to live in the moment. It took his mind away from the anxious thoughts which usually plagued it. For a second, he felt like he was in charge of the world beneath his feet, and he owned the body that let him feel the breeze on his skin. It was rare that he wasn’t detached. He never took it for granted.

Tommy, on the other hand, was a bit more carefree. Or at least appeared so on the surface. He was the hyper one, picking flowers and running around without ever getting tired. 

“Wilbur,” he suddenly interrupted the other in his deep appreciation of the world. “What’s a coping mechanism?”

“It’s something to help you deal with trauma or a bad time in your life. It can be a book, a hobby, even a person. There are bad coping mechanisms as well, like alcohol.” He answered nonchalantly, but then stopped in his tracks to stare at Tommy. “Where do you know that phrase from?”

“I read your diary.” Tommy said with a playful giggle.

“You fucker!” Wilbur slapped the back of his brother’s head. “Don’t invade my privacy like that or I’ll fucking kill you,” he glared the boy down. “Besides, there are things in that notebook that no child should lay their eyes on.”

“Oh, I know,” the other burst into laughter. “You’re so sappy and depressing, but act like such a tough guy. How lame.”

Wilbur had the urge to say he pretended to be strong only to protect him, but he chose to keep it to himself. Tommy didn’t need to know how much he hid from him. Those thoughts were his, and only his. “I’m serious, don’t do it again. There will be consequences.”

Wilbur’s voice got low and that was when Tommy knew he was in real trouble. He immediately shut up and awkwardly shuffled his feet on the ground. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Tommy. Let’s just- let’s keep walking and remain quiet.”

A while later, they spotted the yellow cottage house Tommy described earlier, glistening on the horizon in the distance. Exchanging a glance of determination, they started running through tallgrass until they reached an empty meadow, and took deep breaths holding onto the person’s fence. Behind the fence there was a stack of dark blue and red boxes, with a poorly drawn doodle of a bee on each one. “That’s… That’s a lot of bees,” Wilbur mumbled as he took sharp breaths from running. No matter how much he exercised, he could never get rid of his breathing problem. It felt like sand filled his lungs, instead of his stomach.

“You reckon we’d get stung to death if I opened one of the boxes?” Tommy challenged him, but Wilbur was still catching his breath. “Anyway,” he changed the subject and walked up to the birch door without a nameplate. It looked scuffed, old and scratched out, unlike the rest of the house which was straight out of an aesthetic cottage fantasy. Tommy briefly hesitated before giving the door a couple of heavy knocks.

“I still don’t know why we’re going to talk to a person.” Wilbur kept his gaze locked to the door, and his fingers around a knife in the front pocket of his trousers. “This isn’t safe- “

“Hello?” The door opened and interrupted Wilbur just as he was about to go on a rant about not trusting anyone. He pulled the knife out on instinct, ready to attack, but laid the weapon down once he got the picture of the stranger who now stood in front of him.

It was a young boy, no older than fourteen, dressed in grey overalls and a juniper coloured button-up shirt. He was wearing a bucket hat that covered his messy bush of brown hair, and had the biggest smile on his face – inviting and warm, the friendliest face Wilbur and Tommy had ever had the chance to see.

“Hi!” Tommy adjusted his personality to match the boy’s amicable energy. “I like your house.”

“Uh, thanks?” The other laughed. “Who are you lot?”

“I’m Tommy, this is my grumpy older brother Wilbur.” He waved his hand towards the man with the knife. “We’re looking for some company. We have a base nearby, it’s called Logstedshire. I mean, not on paper, we just call it that.”

“Nice to meet you!” The boy held his hand out and Tommy accepted the handshake. Wilbur remained skeptical and kept his distance. “You can call me Tubbo. Come in, let’s have a drink!”

“I’d love a drink right now,” Tommy made a move to step inside the house, but felt Wilbur take his arm and tug him backwards.

“Wait,” the older interjected. “You’re allowing strangers into your home just like that? Where’s your family?”

“I live alone, it’s fine. And to be fair, you two don’t look very intimidating. You with the little Swiss knife and Tommy being a literal child.” Tubbo chuckled and pointed towards the interior of his home to let them know they were still welcome to come inside.

Wilbur shoved the knife back in his pocket and pursed his lips as he silently stepped in. He hated his paranoia that always got the worst of him. Tommy followed suit with a cheerful zest in his step, excited to spend time with a different person for once in two years.

The living room was illuminated with bright lanterns, the dining table decorated as if there were always guests coming here. Paintings of an unfamiliar family hung across the half-wooden, half-cobblestone filled walls, there were plants on every windowsill glowing with vitality, and an easel stood in the corner of the room. This explained the multicoloured floor – Tommy didn’t know whether it was supposed to look like that, or whether it was a result of paint drips. “Have a seat at the table!” Tubbo exclaimed and took off his hat, throwing it directly onto the edge of the easel and letting the chaotic mess of his hair flow.

Tommy lacked hesitation, and hopped into a chair in less than a second. Wilbur took his precious time observing his new surroundings before sitting.

The eccentric beekeeping painter (or whatever he was) joined them a minute later, bringing out milk and biscuit for everybody and placing the tray in the centre of the table. “So, what brings you here?” He asked with a smile as he sat himself next to Tommy and took one biscuit for himself.

“I need a friend; I’ve been stuck with this dumb bitch for two years.” Tommy glanced at Wilbur, who only gave him an exasperated look of disapproval. “How do you live alone? I’d piss myself dry from boredom.”

Tubbo quirked an eyebrow at Tommy’s choice of words, stifling a laugh. “I mean, I’m an orphan. Not like I had a choice. But it’s fine, I kind of learnt to be my own family. My bees are also my family.”

“You’re an orphan? We’re orphans too!”

“What? No, we’re not.” Wilbur scrunched his face in confusion.

“Shut up, I was trying to be relatable to our new friend,” Tommy whisper yelled.

“…By lying about the death of your parents. Yeah, okay. You’re definitely the socially competent one here.” His head dropped into his hands as he let out a long exhale. “We ran away from home two years ago, Tubbo. Don’t listen to this annoying little fucker. Sorry about him.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tubbo said with his mouth full. “I think he’s funny, actually!”

“Great, you can have him. I’m leaving.”

“Hey!” Tommy acted insulted.

Tubbo observed the brotherly interactions with a hint of wistfulness in his eyes. At least they had each other, he would have sold his soul for a companion through the loneliness. Alas, he was an only child, and once he lost his parents, he lost every connection to a human being and isolated himself in a faraway village.

“Tubbo, do you want to be friends with us?” Tommy asked out of the blue.

“I,“ the boy was left speechless for a second, never expecting to hear those words from anyone. He blinked and nearly rubbed his eyes to check if he was truly awake. “I’d love that!” His voice jumped. From the other side of the dining table, he felt Wilbur’s icy glare pierce into his skin, so he turned to face the man. “I-if Wilbur is fine with that.” He added.

Wilbur took a moment to think. “Go ahead, yeah. You seem harmless, and Tommy deserves a friend.”

“You need to be more trusting, Wilbur,” Tubbo commented. “The knife, the death stares, the gloomy faces… You don’t have to keep your guard up all the time.”

“Didn’t ask to be therapized by a young teen, thanks.” He replied coldly.

“He’s a real buzzkill,” he whispered to Tommy and the boys both broke into laughter.

“It’s his coping mechanism,” Tommy mocked his brother. In response, Wilbur gave him an intentionally fake smile and instantly replaced it with a critical frown.

Hours passed in Tubbo’s company, and none of them had noticed until Wilbur finally glanced through the window and realized that evening had fallen upon the land. The sun was setting, while they still talked to a brand new friend and ate the best food they’d tasted in so long. Freshly baked biscuits and bread, warm drinks, and an attention-grabbing conversation.

Tubbo could relate to both of their interests. He shared the knowledge of random facts and going on rants about pointless things. And he liked Tommy’s brash personality and a wide collection of jokes accompanied by a loud voice. He laughed at everything the younger boy thought of. None of them were ready to admit it, but this was the most fun they had in a while.

“It’s getting dark outside,” Wilbur observed, feeling the earlier fuzz return to his head. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to spend the night with a migraine again. “We should be on our way before nightfall.”

“You can sleep here!” Tubbo immediately put the offer on the table.

“No, no, we’re fine- “

“That’s a great idea!” Of course, Tommy wouldn’t let him finish that sentence. “Can you show me the room?”

“Tommy!” Wilbur shouted, making both boys freeze in place and stare at him, awaiting his next move. “We’re going home.”

“Come on,” he dragged out the syllable, “it’s our day off, I don’t want to run from monsters tonight. Please? If Tubbo says it’s okay- “

“We’re. Going. Home.” He accentuated each word and got up from the chair, aggressively slamming it under the table.

The children shared a look of confusion (and a bit of fear), Tommy shrugging as he didn’t expect Wilbur to intimidate him into leaving. Wordlessly, he complied and followed his older brother to the exit. Tubbo did the same, opening the door for them.

“Thank you for the food, Tubbo,” Wilbur said and stepped out, forcing Tommy to add some hurry to his step while the younger was still saying his goodbyes to the newfound friend.  
He dragged him away from the house and into the dangers of the night. They were lucky that the area in the radius of about fifteen meters around the house was well-lit with torches to scare away the creatures that came out of hiding when darkness fell. But there weren’t many light sources on the way to their house. That was why Wilbur preferred staying in their tiny circle around Logstedshire. He mentally chastised himself for allowing Tommy to take them so far away from home without thinking about the later consequences.

This meant they possibly had to fight or run from any monsters that might stand in their way.


	3. One Bad Decision

Wilbur took the backpack off his shoulders and reached inside to grab his iron dagger he used to fight the monsters. He handed the smaller one to Tommy, even though the boy always ran or hid while the other fended them off. It was smart to carry a weapon just in case.

“The sun is completely gone,” the older said with only the tiniest hint of worry in his voice. In reality, he was terrified.

“I’m not scared.” Tommy sneered. “I’m just upset you dragged us out of there for no reason.”

Wilbur couldn’t explain to him that he felt the ground beneath his feet moving like he was hungover, and that his head was about to explode from pressure and pain. His brain was like fluffy cotton candy, vision blurred and hands shaky - but he wasn’t going to show it. Although Tommy could remember that Wilbur had often fallen ill when they were children, Wilbur pretended it went away ever since they ran off together. He wasn’t going to let his cover get blown by a stupid decision and a single night away from home. “Just stay alert and shut up.” He muttered, feeling as if his throat was closing in.

“It’s cold,” the shorter boy whispered to himself and looked around as they took careful steps away from the last layer of lights.

“Hush,” Wilbur interrupted and fixated his hearing on a familiar noise of bones clinking in the distance. “Shit.” He took Tommy by the arm and pulled them into a different direction.  
Skeletons were a rare and dangerous breed. Wilbur could never forget the time he got shot, and he wouldn’t let the same happen to Tommy. They had terrible aim, luckily, but the sole idea of an arrow driving through his skin and puncturing his flesh made him shudder in terror. The easiest ones to fight or escape were the zombies – lethargic and not very intimidating. Also, the most common ones around, as there were already three in their field of view.

Tommy shifted closer to Wilbur and held him tight as they speed walked through the field. The hissing sounds of spiders hiding in the grass made every hair on his body stand up. He recoiled and tightened his grip on Wilbur’s arm. Okay, maybe he was a little scared. But that was fine, since they were already halfway home. The only thing he couldn’t handle was the sudden cold filling the air.

The jingling, eerie sound of bones appeared to be closer than before. It couldn’t have been the same one. “Wilbur, walk faster,” Tommy nudged him forwards.

Instead of confessing that he couldn’t, Wilbur gave him a comfort nod and pushed himself to move quicker, pretending to have control over his legs. Every step was heavy, he imagined big boulders tied against his ankles forcing him to fall deeper into the ground like he was walking through the deep sea, and not a flat plains biome. The vision of the world in front of him became even more distorted, and Tommy noticed the way his movements stuttered, walking in zigzag and not being able to keep a straight line.

“Are you okay?” Tommy had to ask. “Please, there are so many monsters out here, we need to get home,” his voice was properly shaking, tugging at Wilbur’s coat. The older man began to fall backwards, catching himself in the last moment and grabbing Tommy’s shirt to stay balanced on the ground. “Wilbur!” He whispered frantically, containing his shouts so he wouldn’t attract unwanted company.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Wilbur took a deep breath and affirmed. “I don’t- I don’t think we’re going in the right direction.”

“What?” Tommy’s eyes widened; mouth left agape. “No, no, no, I- this is the right…“ realization struck him as he glanced over the plains and noticed that he recognized absolutely nothing of his surroundings. Wilbur was right, they were lost. “…path. Wilbur, we’re fucked. We should’ve stayed at Tubbo’s and waited for the morning.”

“Well, I had a slight lapse in judgement,” Wilbur slightly slurred his words. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Why are you acting drunk? Seriously, are you okay?”

“I said I’m fine!” Wilbur yelled and pointed his dagger at Tommy in a swift motion. “We keep moving.”

“Okay,” Tommy bit his tongue. Obviously, he didn’t believe his brother when he said he was alright, but Wilbur was a secretive person. Not to mention a thing he read in his diary about ‘always needing to act strong and protective no matter what’. But Tommy wasn’t stupid. He knew when things were off and could sense it by intuition. He was also aware that if Wilbur didn’t admit to feeling ill, it could get them into even bigger trouble. But he wouldn’t say that out loud. Wilbur would just get pissed off.

The anticipated trouble began once they heard an arrow being flung in their direction. They dodged it and looked at each other with the most terrified expression. “Tommy, run.” Wilbur commanded, and it took the boy a few seconds to react. “Run!”

Another shot flew right past Wilbur’s face and he worked hard and fast to figure out where it was coming from. To his demise, he couldn’t find the source. The skeleton was probably hiding behind a tree or in a bush.

The grass rustled beneath Tommy’s feet as he sprinted away from Wilbur in a random direction, leaving him alone in the dark by order. He hated himself for doing that. He should have stayed behind and fought and not listen to him. His breaths became quicker and so did his pace, and he felt like his heart would burst open in his chest from fear. Every few steps, he looked back to see if Wilbur was fine, but at this point he was escaping his view field. He heard the ongoing shots and clinking in the distance, the sound of Wilbur’s dagger colliding with the disgusting bones of the nightly creature. Soon enough, the light emitting from the Logstedshire area was in proximity. Finally, he could let himself slow down and catch a breath. He found home. A minute or two after, he was surrounded by the lights, and no monsters followed him onto the territory. Thank the fucking lord.

Hopefully Wilbur would come back unscathed.

Wilbur was still ducking the arrows, but now he knew where they were coming from. The ever-growing feeling of his throat closing in had never ceased, and it seemed like it brought company – judging by the tingles in his arms and legs, and a dull pain spreading over the left side of his body. He thought he was about to have a heart attack. Tears blurred his vision as he charged at the skeleton and attempted to slash its bow, just to be tossed on the ground. His backpack rolled to the side, and he grabbed it fast to take out a shield that he had forgotten earlier. It saved him from the next shot, but it was nearly broken. He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t allow him. The creature above him was ready to take his head off, and he couldn’t do anything about it. “Help!” He cried out to the nothingness. A feeble attempt at slicing at the skeleton’s hips got him nowhere. “Anyone!”

As if anybody would be at the entrance to a big forest at this time of night.

His shield, at its deathbed, still protected him from the impact of the arrows. It took him five tries, but he finally managed to stand up and, with a loud sob, he spun around and jabbed the dagger straight into the skeleton’s neck, pushing deeper and deeper through its non-existent throat no matter how painful it was for his arms. He wouldn’t let his body betray him like this. “Come on!” He growled and pressed further until the skeleton’s head flew off with a pop and the remaining bones dissipated onto the ground. Wilbur fell to his knees, hyperventilating, tears streaming down his face without his consent. He ignored the groans of zombies and crawled behind a sweet berry bush, right on the border where the plains met the taiga. Putting up his nearly broken shield and his backpack in front of him to assure himself a better hiding space, he decided it was for the best if he slept here and waited for the night to pass. Maybe even as a punishment for being reckless and allowing this to happen in the first place. If he had listened to Tommy, they’d be sleeping in an actual room, with actual beds.

He rested his trembling body in the grass, the earth still spinning faster in his head than in real life. Instead of doing something about his nausea, he just shut his eyes tight and waited for it to pass, letting the cold breeze dry the salty tears on his lips.  
No matter how hard he tried to take care of Tommy, he always let him down. With each passing day, the guilt and self-blame grew stronger like an infection in his chest. He was the reason Tommy lived life in survival mode. His selfishness, his inability to tolerate their father… If he wasn’t so impulsive, he wouldn’t be curled up in the dirt today, sobbing his heart out.

But hey, it was still better than being home, right?

Unexpectedly, his thoughts were interrupted by a sound of unfamiliar footsteps rustling through the grass. Wilbur silenced his crying and lay perfectly still, so he would go unnoticed. The footsteps came closer, nonetheless. “Anyone here?” A soft male voice spoke. “Hello? Anyone dead over here?”

“He- here,” Wilbur called out in a helpless tone. “Not dead,” he added.

“Oh?” The man squatted and moved Wilbur’s shield, meeting the other’s gaze at eye level. “What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

Wilbur found himself staring into two dark eyes hidden behind white goggles. “No,” he replied and the other offered him a hand to stand up. “I can’t really… Stand right now. But thank you.”

“Okay,” the stranger sat down next to him and pulled the goggles up to his head. He owned an expensive, shiny diamond sword and placed it on the ground next to Wilbur, who eyed it like he just saw God. It was the most powerful weapon he had ever seen, and suddenly he feared that he would be the one getting killed by it, not shielded.

“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” He had to ask the unknown man in the blue uniform.

The other just breathily chuckled. “No. I was hunting in the near and heard someone scream for help. I see you managed to defend yourself, that’s good. Especially with that ugly little thing you call a sword,” he flicked Wilbur’s iron dagger on the ground and grinned.

“It’s the best I own.”

“I wish I could give you some materials, so you wouldn’t have such pathetic gear. Oh and, I’m George, by the way.”

“I’m Wilbur,” he responded quickly. “I don’t… I don’t suppose you could, uh, take me home and not let me be slaughtered, right?”

“Hm, perhaps I could. Two more of my hunters are in this area, and one of them would kill you if he saw you on our territory. It’s great you ran into me instead of the others. They’d turn you into dust.”

“I didn’t know I was on somebody’s territory- “

“No, it’s fine… Wait, how do you not know? You stepped foot on the greatest of the four factions.”

“Factions?” Wilbur felt his heart stop. “Am I trespassing?”

“Yep,” George laughed. “But you seem defenseless, so I didn’t hurt you.”

“Thank you for that, genuinely.” He averted his gaze onto the ground and felt heat rise to his face. “What do you mean when you say factions? What’s this place called?”

“This here is the land of Dream SMP. You’d expect Dream to be the ruler, but it’s actually me. I’m sort of the king, you know.” George couldn’t stop a devilish grin from sneaking onto his lips.

“Who the fuck is Dream?” Wilbur deadpanned.

“He’s the owner of this land, the one who brought it up and raised it. He’s also my best friend, which is why I was given the kingship role. A bit of nepotism never hurt anyone.”

As Wilbur was about to reply, another bout of nausea arose from his stomach and made him gag on his words. He felt more tears prick his eyes, and he quickly turned away from George thinking he was going to throw up, but nothing came out. He dry-heaved for a hot minute until George started to get concerned. “Sorry,” he said weakly once he stopped shivering. “I’m not sick nor contagious, stop looking so panicked.”

“I’m more worried for you than myself,” George pursed his lips in thought. “Let’s get you home.” He extended his hand again, and Wilbur grabbed onto it with shaky hands. It took him time to stand up, forcing his legs to function and fight against the fatigue. Vibrations of pain filled his bones – George noticed and pulled him up, putting an arm around him for extra support. “You seem very ill…” He muttered under his breath.

“Well, I’m not,” Wilbur retorted in defense. He used the sleeve of his coat to wipe off the remaining tears from his face.

The king mumbled a ‘mhm’ and helped the taller man walk, staying alert at all times so they wouldn’t get attacked. “Where’s your home?”

“Not sure, but my brother ran off in that direction,” he pointed away from the forest and deeper into the plains.

“You don’t even have good spatial orientation skills? What are you doing in the wilderness?”

“I get on perfectly fine.” Wilbur was insulted, knowing how many things he had survived, probably way worse than this rich man who seemed as if he was without a single struggle in the world. He didn’t have a grasp on the privilege he owned by having a big home, a community, and prestigious weaponry. “This is the first time since I’ve lived here that I got myself into near fatal trouble. You make one bad choice, one fucking bad choice! And the Universe curses you.” He freed himself from George’s grip once he was ready to walk on his own again.

The crisp wind rustled the dark oak branches and fiddled with the leaves, finding its way to the back of Wilbur’s exposed neck, forcing an audible shiver from his mouth. He focused on the sound of an owl hooting coming from far away, and used all of his concentration powers to make his feet feel real on the ground, to make himself connected with nature. It was to no avail, though, as he had already returned to his natural, dissociated state. He took notice of the familiar warmth radiating from behind the trees, and as soon as one ray of light made it through the treetops, he knew he was home. Thankfully, they didn’t get into any fights with monsters on the way back to Logstedshire. 

“Well, this is my home, you can go now.” He didn’t want to thank George, still feeling a little hurt by his earlier words. Then again, the man did kind of save his night. “And, uh… Thanks. For not murdering me.”

“Wait, this is where you live?” George pointed to Tommy’s tent as he kept following Wilbur towards the entrance Logstedshire. Waiting for Wilbur’s nod of confirmation, he asked another question. “And exactly how long have you been here?”

“About six months, maybe more. We were nomads before we settled here thinking there was nobody in the nearby areas.”

The king turned to him with a look that either spoke confusion, irritation or a mixture of emotions that Wilbur wasn’t able to comprehend. “You built your base on our territory. This is the west border of the Dream SMP. I don’t- I don’t know how you haven’t been spotted yet, but you technically aren’t allowed to be here. I’m not going to tell anyone about it, but the others might find you. It’s best you leave.”

“We can’t just leave, we’ve built ourselves a nice place here. Besides, I’m not fit enough to live a homeless life again. If no one has found us so far, I’m sure they won’t in the future either.” Wilbur argued against being thrown out of his home, to George’s dissatisfaction.

“Hm,” the king crossed his arm and tapped the diamond sword against his foot in thought. “They might increase border patrol.”

“Why would they do that all of a sudden?”

“Maybe I’ll tell them to,” George said sternly, leaving Wilbur in awe.

“If you were going to threaten me, why did you help me?!” He shouted, but raised his arms in the air as soon as George whipped the sword up and placed the tip against his throat.

“What was I going to do, leave you in the dirt? Just because I helped you, it doesn’t mean I want you residing on my territory.” He put the weapon down, as it was merely to elicit fear in the other with no means to harm him.

“I can’t leave my home,” Wilbur pleaded. “Take my stuff if you wish, but don’t take away my home. And Tommy, my- my little brother, I can’t make him leave.”

The two men didn’t notice the commotion they were creating at the edge of the forest, until their conversation got interrupted by careful steps on the crackly grass. George was the first one to turn around, noticing a young blond boy coming from the direction of Logstedshire. “Is this your brother?”

Wilbur whipped his head around and felt every worry in his heart melt away, placing a hand on his chest. If Tommy was okay, everything would be. He had no time to utter the boy’s name, as the younger had already started running towards him, straight into his arms for a tight hug. Their bodies collided at a high velocity, and Wilbur almost fell backwards into the grass.

“Wilbur, you’re alive!” The boy wrapped his arms around his brother and nearly cried out in relief. “You were gone for so long, I thought you didn’t survi- uh, who’s this?” He pointed towards George. “Are you a trespasser? How dare you step foot onto Logstedshire!” Tommy was about to charge towards the king if it wasn’t for Wilbur who grabbed the back of his shirt and kept him in place.

The older tiredly sighed. “Actually… We’re the trespassers, Tommy.”

“What?” Tommy looked at Wilbur, then at George, and back at Wilbur. “What the fuck?”

“You two,” George interrupted their little moment, “need to pack your bags and be gone by sunrise. Just head west until you reach civilization and you’ll be fine. Wherever you go no matter the direction, you will find yourself on enemy land. Sneak through it and find the nearest city, it’s a lot more suitable for you than the wilderness.”

“No, you can’t do that!” Tommy wanted to curse this man out more than anything in the world. “We’re not hurting anyone by staying here.”

“He does make a good point,” Wilbur threw his two cents in.

“Of course I am, I’m always right.”

“Shut up now, Tommy,” he placed a hand on his shoulder and threw him a sharp glance. “We’re staying. And if you want us gone, send your dumb patrol. We’ll fight.”

“Will you?” George snorted and put all the weight of his body on his right side, hand on his hip.

“We’ll fight you, bitch!” Tommy quickly received a head slap from Wilbur for that one. “Sorry.” He said with fake remorse dripping from his voice.

“Alright,” the king shrugged. “I’ll be here at dawn, and if I see you, it won’t end well.”

Once he was out of their sight, Tommy and Wilbur made their way back to their dark oak hut in absolute quiet. Only the noises of the forest filled their ears, as neither of them was ready to speak first. If it wasn’t for Wilbur’s rash decisions, they would have never gotten themselves into this mess. It was worse than just fighting monsters, this was like putting a sign on their forehead saying ‘Hey! Kill me!’

Wilbur pushed his shoulder against the door of the hut to open it, the thing creaking louder than the choirs of crickets among the trees. When they both stepped inside, he shut the door behind them and wordlessly made his way to the so-called kitchen, which was a room connecting both to the dining room and the bedroom. Tommy took a stolen bucket of milk from underneath the makeshift sink and placed it on the wooden table. It was lukewarm, as usual, and didn’t have the best smell. He poured some into two bowls and crunched up pieces of bread to soak them in it. Their kitchen banter was severely lacking tonight, he had to admit. Even though he was excited to see Wilbur alive, it didn’t mean he wasn’t angry with him.

To be fair, he just wanted to go back to Tubbo’s house.

Taking the measly bowl of bread and milk and sitting himself at the tiny dining table, for the first time in a while he found himself missing the luxury of a warm drink. Spending time with Tubbo obviously messed with his view of reality. He had accepted that this was his life, and it would hurt him deeply if he had to go back to square one when he detested every moment of it.

“I’m sorry.” Wilbur spoke first, and Tommy turned around to face him. “This is my fault; I should have agreed to staying with Tubbo.”

“This whole fuckin’ thing is your fault, Wilbur,” Tommy let out a bitter laugh and swallowed his dinner.

“I know that,” the older said in a low frequency, closing his eyes and counting to ten in his head. “I’m sorry for fucking up your life, Tommy, I really am. But we can still turn it around. This is still better than living with Phil and Techno.”

“Stop lying to yourself, man!” Tommy stood up from the table and spilled the leftover milk into the sink, aggressively throwing the bowl aside so it clanged against a pot. “Two years later and you’re still on the same shit. How could this possibly be better than having a home? Yes, we were treated poorly, but at least we weren’t living in a fucking forest, Wilbur!”

“Oh, it was better for you, yeah? Fuck that, Tommy,” Wilbur slammed his fist against the kitchen counter. “You weren’t the one who took all the beatings! You weren’t the one who was thrown outside, in the snow, without a fucking meal for an entire day, because you forgot to take out the trash. You weren’t the one who had to watch your older brother destroy all of your possessions and get away with no punishment for it, while if I touched a hair on his head I would be denied a place to fucking sleep for the night!” He nearly shrieked, crying for god knows which time today. What a wonderful birthday this was. Truthfully, no worse than any other. His hands covered his face as he collected his breaths, his internal voice counting them one by one. He broke into a laugh-cry and smashed his fist against his thighs until he could feel himself bruise. “If it was so great, why did you follow me?” He sniffled and wiped his tears, still shivering until he felt Tommy shift closer to embrace him in an awkward movement. And what else could he do besides hug back and let sobs wrack his body, feeling like he was undeserving of the hug?

“Because you are the only person who has ever expressed an ounce of care for me.” Tommy tried his hardest not to cry, mumbling against Wilbur’s chest. “I didn’t know… I had no idea what this lifestyle would ask from me.”

This was the first time Tommy had seen Wilbur cry in over two years, and he was happy to finally witness it. Months of pent-up frustration resulting in a breakdown was perfectly reasonable, and they both knew it would only make them closer.

“Sorry for lashing out,” Wilbur said once the tears died down.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the past like that, it was obviously a lot harder for you. I followed you into the wild and can’t blame you for it. To be fair, I’d have probably run away later if not with you.” He chuckled and hugged the other tighter.

“It’s way past your bedtime,” the older pulled away and ruffled Tommy’s hair. “Go to sleep and I’ll catch up soon. Just need to do something.” He said and downed the other bowl of milk and bread that waited for him on the counter, walking towards the front door.

“Where are you going?” Tommy questioned.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Wilbur had already stepped outside before Tommy could receive an answer.

The younger sighed and ran his hands over his face, more tired than ever. Anxious about Wilbur, terrified of being kicked out of his new home. Something was going on with his brother, and he wouldn’t tell him.

Maybe Tommy had to read his diary more often.


	4. Fight to the Death

The first glimmer of morning sunlight made its way to the hut through the uncovered window, interrupting Wilbur who slept soundly before the light reached his body. His face scrunched as pain shot through the left side of his forehead, and his eyelids fluttered open just to shut tightly again after a pulsing headache reminded him of the fact he was still alive and unwell. He let out a couple of short breaths, running his fingers through his hair and finally letting himself look around, eyes suddenly wide at the realization the sun was up. The sun was up, and it meant they were in danger. Frantically standing up, he saw darkness for a long minute, nearly blacking out and sitting back on the bed.

“Tommy,” he called to the boy on the other bed. “Tommy, wake up.”

The younger, still dressed in the same red and white shirt he wore the day before, grunted in protest and curled into himself to avoid being woken up. Danger wasn’t even in the back of his mind, he only thought about the rest he so desperately needed.

“It’s morning, get the fuck up,” Wilbur insisted, reaching over to Tommy’s grey and old blanket which was nearing its end, barely providing any warmth. He pulled it off him and threw it on the floor, and Tommy groaned again. This time he was awake, but not happy. 

“Prick,” he mumbled and sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching while an endless string of yawns left his mouth. A few long exhales later, he glared at Wilbur with tired eyes. “I fucking hate you.”

“C’mon, get dressed. We need to wait for the kingdom people to arrive.” 

“Why can’t we just run away to Tubbo’s place and avoid the stupid fight?” Tommy asked through yet another yawn. “We stand no chance against that guy from last night. Did you see his sword?!”

“This is a decent place to live, we’ve built it and we should defend it. If we just run away, what picture of us does that paint? We’re not quitters, Tommy.” Wilbur began to feel his brain rot away again, the fuzzy feeling enclosing him again. He glanced through the window to gain a sense of reality, but didn’t expect to catch a glimpse of three soldiers, one of them being George, shuffling through the oak forest behind their house. One of them wasn’t wearing armor, just a light green hoodie and a black pair of jeans. His face was covered with a white mask, a sinister smile painted on it. The other was dressed in a black-and-white uniform and a headband with a flame drawing. Despite the strange fashion choices, the men knew they possessed a factor of intimidation with their royal ruby swords. Suddenly George’s diamond sword was no longer impressive. “Also… They’re already here.” He barely uttered. 

The feeling of his throat enclosing returned in an instant. 

“Well, what do we do?” Tommy started to panic, pacing around the floor where the kitchen connected to the bedroom. He grabbed a wooden spoon and stood in a battle position. 

Wilbur stared at him with an exhausted face of shock at how badly Tommy reacted to high pressure situations. “A fucking spoon?” He asked without wanting an answer. Merely a second before the three men knocked on their door, he managed to grab his dagger, but threw it on the floor once he realized it was futile against the others.

The soldiers didn’t wait for a ‘come in’, and knocked down their door instead. The man in green was in charge. He took his sweet time walking over to Tommy and Wilbur, jabbing the polished purple sword into their wooden floor as a sign of ownership. “Hello,” he said in a surprisingly calm tone. Somehow that made it more menacing. 

“What do you want?” Tommy spat out. 

“Nice spoon,” They could hear the man’s smirk in his voice, even if his lips were hidden behind a mask. “Get off my land.”

“We don’t pose a threat by staying here, I don’t understand what the big deal is.” Wilbur played it cool, but his heart dropped to his stomach. Fear was ringing in his ears, echoing through his head like church bells, and it certainly didn’t help with his progressive migraine.

“Do you own this territory?” The man ignored the unspoken question. He raised his weapon to Wilbur’s chin and watched as the taller man took a careful step back. Instead of a coherent answer, he received a couple of sharp breaths and a deadly silence filled with fear. “Didn’t think so.”

“Dream, just don’t hurt them.” George chipped in with a soft plea. “They should leave, not die.”

“They should die if they don’t leave,” Dream shot back. 

George hesitated to agree. “I- alright.” He reminded himself of last night’s sight - Wilbur lying curled up on the ground, helpless and sick, and Tommy flying into his arms when he brought his older brother home safe. He felt something boil in his chest, and frantically shook his head to chase away the thought. In the end, he could have remained silent about Logstedshire’s existence, and it was a bit too late to retract the information. Not that he wanted to. Obviously.

“I’d like to propose a deal.” Wilbur attempted to assert himself despite the fact his entire body was tingling from the encapsulating feeling of dread. 

“I’m listening,” Dream didn’t pull the sword away from the other’s neck. 

“I fight one of you, and if I win, we get to stay. If I lose, you will not find us on your territory ever again.”

“Wilbur, what- “ Tommy looked up at him in shock. It sounded like the worst idea; Wilbur might have been a decent fighter, but his skill was purely experience-based. These men were trained, and armed with the sharpest weapons. 

“Deal.” Dream chuckled and accepted, already predicting their victory. “You can go against Sapnap, he is the best fighter in the kingdom.” He gestured towards the shorter man with the flame symbol.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Wilbur?” Sapnap mocked and twirled his sword around his wrist. “I can chew you up and spit you out like a piece of stale cheese, bitch.”

“Very intimidating indeed,” Wilbur pretended to be sarcastic. He loathed how he tended to speak before thinking, especially when his body was running on adrenaline. Challenging this fucking man to a duel? Where did that even come from? 

“Let’s head outside then,” Dream waited for everybody to get out of the hut, stepping over the knocked down door. He was the last to exit and joined the others to observe on the sidelines, while Wilbur and Sapnap separated themselves from the group to stand in front of them.

Tommy wished he was deaf and blind so he wouldn’t have to witness his brother’s death right in front of his eyes. He crossed his arms, maybe to shield himself from a non-existent impact. If only Tubbo was here to embrace him and alleviate his fear. 

Dream watched as Sapnap got into position, and Wilbur attempted to imitate the same with his puny iron dagger. “George, give the poor man your sword, or this fight will be over too fast.” 

George obeyed with no complaint and handed Wilbur the diamond sword in exchange for his dagger. The other grabbed it, not expecting the weight of the weapon to almost drag him down to the floor. He wavered in his step and took a moment to regain balance on his feet. Dream and Sapnap both chuckled and shared a knowing look, the unvoiced comment making Wilbur’s chest fill with rage to the brim. Such honourable soldiers, laughing at the weakness of their opponent.

To increase his chances of winning by at least one percent, Wilbur wriggled out of his trenchcoat and tossed it away so he wouldn’t trip on its length - although it was freezing cold wearing only his yellow sweater and ripped trousers, it was better than dying.  
Was this a fight to the death? They never established the rules, and by now he was too scared to ask. He believed in his anger to give him enough power to walk away victorious.

“You may start whenever you are ready.” Dream gave the order. 

Sapnap did not wait a second after those words were uttered. There wasn’t an ounce of reluctance in the fighter’s bones as he swung his sword towards Willbur’s throat, the other man blocking it instantly. Wilbur gritted his teeth hard enough to feel their pressure in his ears, pushing Sapnap’s sword away and taking a split second opportunity to jab the tip of the sword into his shoulder. Sapnap hissed in pain and lurched forwards to knock Wilbur into the dirt. He didn’t think the other would manage to dodge it, but he did.  
Wilbur’s thought process was a lot different than Sapnap’s. With every move, and every advance, he didn’t think about what his hands were doing. He centered on the connection between his legs and the ground beneath his feet. He focused on what was real, the smells and the colours, anything that could help him stay attached to the world. His breaths were razor-sharp, but he couldn’t say the same about his hits. Sapnap threw relentless cuts at Wilbur. The other parried. Soon enough the cuts became thrusts, and it became harder to block and avoid. Sapnap waited for Wilbur to let his guard down and used the moment of fragility to pierce the skin on his cheek, not yielding until he saw crimson blood gush from the lengthy wound spread across his face and over the bridge of his nose. Wilbur cried out and jerked his head to the side, unable to block Sapnap’s next hit delivered to his stomach. He felt dizzy and didn’t even try to stop himself from falling. Sapnap made sure to step on his chest and squeeze it with his boot of steel, stripping Wilbur not only of power, but of breathing. He was about to slice the man’s throat, when an abrupt impact collided with his side and threw him on the ground. Looking up, he was met with George’s body on his, and he stared shocked at his friend.

“Stop,” George breathed, “don’t kill him.”

“Get the fuck off me!” Sapnap pushed him away and brushed the dirt off his uniform. Both men stood up without moving their death glares from each other.

Wilbur’s face was drenched in blood from the open wound as he lay on the floor gasping for air he couldn’t catch. He coughed and heaved, wiping his cheek until his whole sleeves were red. Tommy ran up to him, kneeling down and not knowing what to do except hold his hand. 

“Well, we have a winner,” Dream said coldly, flashing George an angry look. “What an unexpected outcome of events.” He ridiculed and knelt to get closer to Wilbur’s blood-tainted face. “If I see you on Dream SMP land ever again, I will make sure to personally finish you off. Understood?”

“Yes,” Wilbur gasped out.

“Is no one going to tend to his wounds?” George shouted. “At least be honourable!”

“He’s not our problem, George,” Dream frowned behind the mask and walked away from Wilbur. He hoped he wouldn’t have to bring George’s loyalty into question once they return home. 

The king, obviously irritated, stormed into the boys’ wooden hut and began looking for any sort of gauze or bandages. He found a dark green bandana instead and drenched it in their bucket of cold water which stood in the sink. Taking it outside, he sat on the ground and brought the cloth to Wilbur’s injury. Wilbur winced at the sensation and gripped Tommy’s hand tighter, allowing the other man to help him with the deep cut horizontally spread across his face. It was going to leave a scar, possibly forever, to remind him of his mistakes.

“George, let’s go,” Dream gritted out. 

“I need to leave.” George whispered to Wilbur and Tommy and grabbed his sword before following Dream and Sapnap back into the forest so they wouldn't get mad.

Wilbur didn’t know whether to thank him for helping him, or tell him to fuck off for jeopardizing his base in the first place. He said nothing. 

Tommy and Wilbur stayed on the ground for a couple of more minutes. The younger didn’t want to let go of his brother’s hand, almost feeling as if he’d slip away if he stopped holding on. “Wilbur, that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” He muttered. Both anger and affection drenched his words - he didn’t know whether to hate Wilbur for almost getting himself killed, or cry because he got out of it alive. 

He was only alive because of George. 

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur said and internally counted his breaths. The feeling of sand in his lungs tripled. His chest was hurting. His face stung, less because of Sapnap, and more because he blamed himself. He trembled from the cold, and as soon as Tommy noticed, he lifted Wilbur’s coat from the ground and covered him with it. Wilbur shook his head and pushed it off. He didn’t deserve the warmth it brought him. Pain was the only thing on his level of worth.

Tommy wanted to attack him, scream about how if Wilbur died, he’d be left alone to fend for himself. He wanted to cry about the ancient Greek heroes and shout at Wilbur for how reckless he’d been. But he couldn’t. Seeing his brother’s physical state, he couldn’t bring himself to burden the other with his emotions. “It’s okay,” he responded, and gently lay his head on Wilbur’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's nothing romantic going on between wilbur and george, don't worry! it's just george questioning his loyalty and the morality of dream's actions. i don't write ships about real people, especially those who haven't consented to such things.
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy!  
> @SootStation on twitter


	5. The Meaning of Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: descriptions of blood & injury

Hours into the afternoon had passed, and instead of packing to leave Logstedshire, Wilbur couldn’t stop staring at his reflection in the mirror. The scar was the one thing on his mind. He thought about how he was forced to carry it forever, and the weight it put on his heart, a lot heavier than the pain radiating over his face. With a tired exhale, he ran his fingers over it. Gently, so it wouldn’t sting. 

This was his fault. He kept throwing himself into near-death situations, and that wasn’t bad in itself - if it hadn’t been for Tommy who was already overexposed to danger, Wilbur would have happily given his life away. For the rest of the day, he was in mental shock, and the only words he was able to utter were apologies.

Soft tapping of rain on windowpanes brought a false sense of peace to his soul, lulling him into dreamland until he was face down on the wooden table, hands supporting his head. Tommy was just as fatigued, but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He began packing his stuff while Wilbur was asleep, so they could make it out of here by the next sunrise.

They had no choice but to leave. It hurt Tommy that they would be homeless again - it hurt him so much more than he let on. When they first formed Logstedshire, Tommy hated it more than anything, but he had grown fond of it over time. No wonder it saddened him to go. But he learned to move on quickly over time, and the same hate-love cycle would repeat with the next place they decided to call their habitat. He just hoped that Wilbur would come to his senses and realize that Tubbo’s house was the best place for them to stay. It was an obvious choice. Tommy didn’t understand Wilbur’s reluctance to make new friends, especially harmless beekeepers with friendly faces. 

Rummaging through Wilbur’s things splayed across the bedroom floor, he got hold of his diary and hesitated to open it. Wilbur did tell him it was very personal, but how else was he going to find out anything about his brother when he never told him anything? 

Every now and then, he glanced at the table to see if Wilbur showed any sign of life. And every time the answer remained the same - he was sound asleep. If he read it and kept quiet about it, he wouldn’t get caught. It might have not been ‘right’, but… But maybe it was. Wilbur’s dishonesty and repression of emotions was what got them nearly killed. Tommy pursed his lips and quietly flipped through the pages to see what the newest addition to the diary was. Last time he read it, he caught a glimpse of something he didn’t want to read and closed it in lightning speed. This time, he hoped it would be less dramatic.

September 14th was the newest entry. Tommy eyed the page top to bottom thinking it was going to be about yesterday’s events: meeting Tubbo, almost dying, the casual stuff. 

‘Get him out of my head.’ The first line read.  
‘I am sick of waking up every day with him being the first thought on my mind.’ Was this about Tommy? He wondered whether he had done something wrong.  
‘Painful memories flood me wherever I go, and I cannot escape them. There’s a constant pressure on my chest. I can’t breathe, he’s following me. He’s in my head. Nothing feels real, and I feel like I’m dreaming no matter how wide I open my eyes. Except it’s not a dream, it’s a nightmare. I have stopped believing that I will experience the world again.’  
This had to have been about Phil, Tommy concluded. He felt acid from his stomach rise to his throat at the words in front of him, he despised that Wilbur felt like that on the daily. If only he could have helped him. 

With extra hesitation, he flipped to the next page.  
‘Tommy, if you’re reading this, I hope you know it wasn’t intended for you and that it isn’t my responsibility to care about your feelings towards this text. These thoughts and emotions are mine and personal, and you gaining access to that invalidates my privacy. You’re a child and I have to protect you, but I know that I cannot put an end to your curiosity. So, if you are reading this, do not take my journaling to heart. I am a happy person so long as I have you in my life. I love and care about you more than anything in this entire world. Now please get out of my fucking book.’

Tommy let out a breathy chuckle at the final line, and closed the notebook which left him with a mixture of unfamiliar, new emotions cooking up around his heart. That note was worse than being scolded in real life. And it was definitely productive, since Tommy made a mental note to never touch Wilbur’s diary ever again.

Hearing the other groan in his sleep, he quickly shoved the book back where he found it and pretended that he was packing for the travel. “Tommy?” Wilbur mumbled half-asleep. In a sluggish motion, he lifted his head from the table and rested his chin on the palm of his left hand. “For how long was I out?”

“About an hour, maybe less,” the younger replied.

“Tommy, I don’t want to leave.” His voice cracked, letting pure sadness escape through the words.

“Me neither, Wilbur, but we kind of don’t have a choice.” Tommy sighed and sat on the chair next to his brother. He forced himself not to stare at the other’s fresh scar, but even though the sight of it made his blood boil, he could barely resist to look. “You’re not yourself today, maybe we can wait until tomorrow morning.”

Wilbur nodded and dropped his face into his hands. “I’m sorry I’ve been pouring everything out on you lately, I know I’m supposed to be the stable one,” he swallowed his pride and admitted what had clouded his mind for days.

Tommy had a hunch he felt like this. He didn’t know how to comfort him, so he made an effort to pat his back a couple of times and remained silent, but Wilbur instantly grabbed him into a hug. “Uh, okay,” the blond boy furrowed his eyebrows, startled by so much affection. “You’ve never been stable, don’t worry.” 

Wilbur laughed through tears and didn’t let go of the hug. 

The two forgot about their knocked down door leaving an exposed entrance to the house, until a strong bout of wind shook the wooden hut and whirled a couple of leaves around the room alongside some harmless raindrops. The cool air bit the back of their necks and snuck down their shirts, making both boys shiver at the same time. They pulled away from the embrace and realized they had to protect themselves from the cold to survive the night, otherwise they’d wake up ill and incapable of moving the next morning. “You know,” Wilbur looked up as an idea formed in his head, “we could run to Tubbo’s place for the night and then decide where to go next.”

Tommy had never agreed faster to anything in his life. With a grin on his face and a glint of excitement returning into his eyes, he jumped up and grabbed one of Wilbur’s giant sweaters to keep him warm on the way. He didn’t own any clothing his size, and that was his own fault. Once he got attached to his one and only t-shirt, he never wanted to wear anything else, so Wilbur had to think ahead and acquire more sweaters for Tommy to put on when the t-shirt wouldn’t be enough. Except he couldn’t find anything in Tommy’s size for the life of him.

“Wilbur, why are all your sweaters yellow?” He asked as he pulled one over his head. 

“What do you mean all of them? I’ve only got three,” Wilbur scrunched up his face. “I stole them from the same section. But you don’t remember that, because you waited outside with a fucking ice cream that I actually paid for. I also really like the colour yellow.” He added with a smile.

“It’s such a shit colour,” Tommy snorted. 

“Of course you’d say that.” Wilbur exhaled in mock exhaustion. He took his time standing up and threw his trenchcoat on, efficiently covering the dried bloodstains on his sleeves.

The younger boy took a slow step outside and stuck his hand out to feel the rain on his skin. “Do we have an umbrella by any chance?”

“No, we need to be fast,” Wilbur took a second to throw all his belongings in the backpack and ran out following Tommy. 

They didn’t have the time to say one last goodbye to Logstedshire as the rain was beginning to intensify, light drops turning into more than a slight drizzle, and all they could do was leave their little hut behind in the dust, looking for a different place to stay. 

“Thank you, Logstedshire,” Tommy whispered and turned around to look at his former home one more time, “I’ll miss you.”

Wilbur gave him a somber smile and let him grab his hand. “I’m glad we didn’t go down without a fight,” he comforted himself. 

The way to Tubbo’s house seemed so much longer than the first time. After a while, they needed to catch a break so desperately, but the rain would have turned them into dirt puddles if they were to have stopped.  
There was a certain heaviness on Wilbur’s chest. Stabs of pain made him lose his breath every few minutes, and he stuttered in his step in an attempt to regain lost oxygen. His bones felt like someone set them on fire, knees close to giving out. The rain drenched his coat, and the sensation of his sweater sticking to his skin made a part of his brain itch – if only he could reach inside and scratch it, instead of letting it fester until he wanted to rip apart his skull and throw out the entire brain. Tommy noticed Wilbur’s breaths were becoming ragged. He slowed down without a single word getting past his lips. 

Freezing, wet and exhausted, at last they made it to the beekeeper’s cottage home. Tommy gave the door a few hard knocks, and it took less than five seconds for them to be opened.

“Welcome back!” Tubbo greeted them with a warm welcome. “Oh my god, Wilbur, what happened to your face? That wasn’t there yesterday.” He gaped until realizing it might have been rude. “Sorry. Come in!” Laughing awkwardly, he let them inside and closed the door behind them.

Wilbur shook out of his coat and flopped onto the first chair, trying too hard to silence his breathlessness and pushing himself to almost unbearable pain. His entire body begged him to let out a noise in response to the pain, but he clenched his jaw and swallowed it down. He couldn’t let the boys know he was suffering.

“Tubbo, we need your help,” Tommy cut to the chase. “We’re not allowed to go back home.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Apparently, our house was on somebody’s land. I think it’s called Dream SMP or something. Anyway, the leaders found us and- “

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Tubbo stared him down dead in the eyes. “Those fuckers kicked you out? God, I hate them so much. I hate them more than anything, Tommy.” He fumed and began pacing around to ease this newfound rage. 

“What did they do to you?” Tommy asked in fear. 

Tubbo shut his eyes tight. A shaky breath left his throat as he grabbed his hair. “They killed my mother.” He muttered in an incoherent tone. “They killed her because she-,” he looked up and bitterly laughed. “Because she asked for help when my father was sick.”

Wilbur and Tommy both froze at the words. “I’m so sorry,” the older whispered. “That’s awful, Tubbo." 

“Well, it’s the past, and it’s why I despise those bastards and await the day I can crush their bones and feed the rest to the wolves.” Tubbo said with a shrug. “If you’re asking for a place to stay, I’m happy to offer you my second room. Especially if the reason for your homelessness are my biggest enemies.”

“Thank- thank you,” Tommy gulped and followed Tubbo into his new bedroom.

“That’s not even where the story ends, but I’ll tell you the rest another time. I’m sorry for dropping that on you, I know it must be heavy to hear.” 

“It’s harder to be in that situation than hear about it,” Tommy responded, “and you should be able to talk about your past if that’s what you need.”

“You’re very wise for a child, Tommy.” Tubbo smiled and took out freshly washed bedsheets to spread over the large bed intended for Wilbur and Tommy to share. 

Tommy took the other edge of the sheets and helped Tubbo make the bed. “That’s because Wilbur is a dramatic bitch who uses lots of big words. D’you know, he used to be a musician. Until our father broke his guitar as a punishment for misbehaving.”

“Oh no, what did he do?” 

“I don’t remember, but it was either something stupid or absolutely nothing. Whenever Dad had a fit of rage, he mostly picked on Wilbur.”

“That’s terrible!” Tubbo exclaimed. “But why him?”

“No clue. Middle children, I guess.”

“You have another sibling?”

“Mhm,” Tommy nodded, sitting on the edge of the luxurious bed. “He was Dad’s favourite. Such a manipulative bastard, he always found a way to blame all his misdeeds on the two of us. And even if he was caught doing something, the least he would get as a punishment was staying home for a week, or earlier bedtime. That’s practically a sneeze compared to the lung disease that me and Wilbur had to deal with.”

“Poor Wilbur,” Tubbo frowned, wishing he could be of more assistance. “He seems like a good guy. On that note, where is he?” 

The boys got up and made their return to the living room, but Wilbur was nowhere to be found. Tommy’s facial expression turned into an inquisitive look accompanied with anxiety, knowing that Wilbur had been mysteriously leaving lately and coming back as if nothing had happened. “He’s probably outside,” he commented and Tubbo followed him to the door.

Once they stepped back into the rain, which had calmed down by now, they both investigated on the same side of the house. It wasn’t hard to spot him in the open meadows behind Tubbo’s home, sitting in the grass and shivering while a stream of blood gushed from his reopened wound. 

“What the fuck, Wilbur,” Tommy and Tubbo ran up to him in an instant. 

“It started bleeding again so I ran out because I didn’t want to get it all over Tubbo’s house,” Wilbur said through shivers of cold. 

Tubbo knelt on the damp earth and inspected the damage of the cut. “You need stitches,” he deduced. “It’s just going to bleed over and over again whenever you make one wrong move.”

“No, it’s fine,” the older shook his head. Tubbo made a mental note to give him a new sweater, as this one was becoming more and more soaked in red with each second. 

“There’s a hospital to the south, about an hour of walking.”

The mere thought of using his legs again made Wilbur’s nausea return to his stomach, not to mention he was already dizzy from blood loss – he was sure he’d black out any second now, especially if he stood up. “I can’t do that,” he gasped.

“You can’t afford to keep losing blood!” Tommy shouted. “What if you die, then what?”

“I’m not going to fucking die, don’t overreact.” Wilbur’s voice dropped an octave, irritated for no reason at all. It was beginning to affect his already fuzzy head. 

“Can you stitch him up?” 

“What? I mean, I could…” Tubbo pondered. “I do have all the materials. But it’s going to hurt abysmally compared to what the nurses could do. Let’s get him inside, then we’ll try to stop the bleeding and think.” He grabbed Wilbur by one arm, and Tommy the other. The man didn’t have the strength to fight back. Vibrations filled his legs and travelled up to his knees, making him fall limp in the children’s grip. 

It took them a lot of heavy steps and constantly losing balance, but they finally made it back inside. Wilbur dropped onto the floor the second they stepped in. “Gonna pass out,” he warned, slurring his words. 

While Tommy stayed by his side, Tubbo picked up some gauze from his bedroom and got right onto applying direct pressure to the wound. Blood soaked through layers as if there was nothing between Wilbur’s skin and Tubbo’s fingers, and he kept adding more without removing the original layer. 

“I’m sorry for burdening you,” Wilbur mumbled, his voice near inaudible. He worked so hard on staring ahead and trying to focus his vision, but no matter how intensely he fixated his gaze, his eyes would wander to the side. The room was doing soft spins around him. He swallowed down the motion sickness and didn’t know whether it was worse when his eyes were open or closed. It was unpleasant either way. Glancing a bit to the right, the image was delayed to his movement. He went back to staring ahead, only to find it wasn’t doing it for him anymore. At least his mind didn’t have the time to focus on self-hatred, when all his energy went into staying awake and not throwing up.

And it failed him.

The last thing he felt was a vignette encircling his view field, until Tubbo and Tommy were replaced with nothing but darkness.

Wilbur’s limbs flopped to the side, eliciting sudden worry in his younger brother. “Wilbur!” He shouted and grabbed his arm by the bloody sleeve.

“It’s fine, he’s not dead. Just unconscious.” Tubbo comforted. “The bleeding is almost done.” 

“God, I am so pissed at him.” Tommy began pacing around the room. “He challenged the SMP people to a fucking duel!” He slammed his fist against the wall and ran his fingers over his face. “It’s like he has a death wish or something, selfish bastard.”

“He makes bad choices, it doesn’t make him a bad person,” Tubbo remained calm and logical, an opposition to Tommy’s passionate emotions.

“I love him, but he’s a fucking idiot.” Tommy kept fuming. “He purposefully gets himself into trouble, it’s so obvious, and I’m not sure what he’s trying to achieve.”

“Well, even if he’s older, he is still a teenager,” the other smiled. “A traumatized one, not to mention.”

“So are you! And you don’t almost die every day. And- and you don’t even have someone to stay alive for!” 

Tubbo stopped to look at Tommy with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but had nothing to comment. The words were like a direct stab through his heart, more hurtful than Tommy had thought before speaking. It was true, technically, that Tubbo was alive for no one. Then again, he wanted to believe his life mattered. “Yeah.” His gaze fell to the floor on a brief second. He removed the gauze from Wilbur’s face and noticed the blood was faltering, so he walked away to grab a wet rag to dab the wound and clean the man’s face. After the short procedure, he bandaged the bridge of his nose where the cut ran deepest and left him to rest. 

“Sorry,” Tommy noticed the change of atmosphere. “That was probably harsh.”

“It sure was,” Tubbo laughed breathily. “But it’s okay. I understand you were angry.”

“See, if someone said that to me, I’d have put a knife through their skull. You’re very calm, Tubbo. I should probably learn from you, since all my role models are quite irresponsible.”

“You mean Wilbur?”

“Yeah, that fucking prick.” He chuckled. A loud yawn tore from his body, and he tried to stretch the exhaustion from his arms. “I’m so tired.”

“Go to bed, I’ll wait for Wilbur to wake up.” Tubbo gestured towards the bedroom with a lighthearted wave.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Tommy gave him a thankful nod and headed to the room, while Tubbo kept his promise. 

Night had already fallen. He searched through a kitchen cupboard for a candle, placing a yellow ceramic plate on the table and using a match to light the tip. Patiently waiting for the wax to drip onto the plate, he used it as an adhesive and jabbed the candle into it, so it stood in place. The flame lit up a decent portion of the room. Tubbo felt its heat in his face, blinking on reflex to chase away the burn from his eyes.

It didn’t take long for Wilbur to regain consciousness. He shifted on the floor with a high-pitched groan, tossing and turning in pain to find a position in which his body didn’t feel like giving up. “What happened?” He murmured and looked up towards the light source illuminating Tubbo’s figure. His fingers grazed the unfamiliar bandages on his nose. 

Tubbo turned around to look at him. “You lost a lot of blood and passed out. We stopped the bleeding and now Tommy is asleep.”

Wilbur blinked in confusion. “Oh. Thank you.” The motion sickness was still present, his brain not obeying the movements of his eyes. He put his arms around his stomach and curled up to his knees. The lack of light immensely helped him deal with the booming headache pulsating in his forehead and the back of his neck, making it a little bit easier to abstain from throwing up all over Tubbo’s living room floor.

“You’re welcome,” Tubbo offered a gentle smile. “Feeling any better?”

“No,” he made sure his replies were fast so his stomach had no time to betray him. 

“I’ll make some tea. Do you like chamomile?” 

Wilbur nodded and Tubbo spared no time to get to work. 

His father’s ancient words echoed in his mind louder than any other thought that flew by, telling him he was nothing but a burden, and that nobody wanted him around. Perhaps Tommy and Tubbo felt the same way about him. The only reason he believed Tommy needed him was because he was older, wiser and protective, but comparing himself to Tubbo’s caretaking abilities he realized his incompetence. The question ‘am I a burden’ suffocated him. He wanted to utter it, and it hurt to keep it in his throat. Yet he couldn’t bear to bother a literal child with such heavy words. 

Unless he was more afraid of the answer. 

The quiet sound of boiling water in the background eased his anxiety as Tubbo prepared their beverages, but it didn’t help the feelings of worthlessness. He was only eighteen, he reminded himself, it was valid to make mistakes. Just because he illegally emancipated himself and ran away, did not mean he was capable of everything. After all, to his dismay, he carried his father’s genetic code. And there wasn’t an ounce of care in that fucker. 

Tommy got their father’s aggression, and Wilbur got the malfunctioning frontal lobe with no impulse control. He wondered whether the emotional, artistic side was from his mother who he had forgotten almost everything about. She died while giving birth to Tommy, when Wilbur and Techno were six and seven years old. In the years they had known her, she acted restrained, tortured by Phil’s whims and mood swings until she withdrew into herself and only catered to his needs. She was kind to Wilbur, though. Never violent, always gentle. He took her for granted until she was gone, her death followed the worst ten years of Wilbur’s life.

Interrupting Wilbur’s hour of self-pity, Tubbo bent down and handed him a hot cup of tea. “Here you go,” the boy said and waited for Wilbur to grab it.

The comforting, warm scent of chamomile filled Wilbur’s nostrils, and he inhaled deeply to experience it deeper inside his body. It had been ages, actual ages, since Wilbur last tasted tea. “Thanks,” he whispered. The heat spread to his hands, not too awful to hold, as he took his first tiny sip. 

It was completely quiet in the house after Tubbo sat and accompanied Wilbur in silent drinking. Only the faraway sounds of nature could be heard, but barely. Neither Tubbo nor Wilbur spoke. The stillness was too relaxing to disturb.

In that moment, he felt connected to his body. He swore he could feel the silence creep inside his bones, filling them with a new thought. A new colour, one that was less angry and bright than yellow and red. If only he could preserve this moment forever instead of letting it pass in the sands of time. He didn’t know feeling this way was even possible anymore. Safe, protected, warm.

Maybe peace was achievable after all.


	6. Loyalty

The never-ending expanse of the Dream SMP land glistened underneath the morning sun. Citizens, members of the faction, everyone who had ever fought for the rise of Dream’s empire, were on their feet before dawn had even risen. People chatted away and exchanged news about their lives in the Community House, some fishing on the dock, others taking a morning stroll to the bakery. They considered their mornings to be a bonding ritual. In order for the empire to grow, no internal fighting was allowed, so everybody stayed friendly with each other to avoid the consequences of the opposite. Some might have liked each other, but most just tried their best to act amicable.

On top of a hill called Capitoline stood the King’s castle with all its might, allowing the view of the entire city from the lookout tower. It glowed with power and beauty, radiated luxury - everything a king could ever need. The gates to the castle were open, and one knight guarded the entrance. She was quite short, but held a powerful enchanted netherite sword in her hands. The things she would do to defend the king extended every limit of humanity. However, did she truly have a choice?

In the distance, she spotted a familiar figure climbing up the Royal Stairwell towards the chiseled stone build with iron gates looming over whoever dared to come close. His strawberry blond hair wasn’t hidden underneath a helmet, as he tended to walk with no armor thinking it was beneath him to wear something on his body to protect himself from attackers. Even from afar, the knight could swear she saw the greenness of his eyes sparkle in the sunshine. It was a rare sight to catch this man without a mask.

“Dream, sir,” she bowed and gestured towards the castle to formally allow him an entrance (even though he could come in any time, as he was the one in charge).

“Good morning,” he smiled and walked through the gates he helped build. He was a mysterious man, difficult to read and psychoanalyze, even harder to understand. But even with his intimidating, secretive demeanor, he was never alone. His best friends George and Sapnap always stood at his side, never betraying his trust no matter what he’d ask them to do. And by god, they had lots of blood on their hands due to his orders.

He was looking for his friends, something important plagued his thoughts and he needed to have a serious conversation about it with the king himself.

Many stairs later, he arrived at the royal dining room with absolute certainty that he would find George there, eating alone and enjoying his solitude.

And he was proven right. Too bad the king’s peace had to be interrupted.

“George,” he spoke in his usual calm manner. The king turned around to meet his gaze, diverting his attention from the heaps of fruit on his lengthy, oval table intended for royal gatherings.

“Oh, hi,” George greeted with a smile. “Want some pears?” He lifted one in the air and started chewing on it before Dream could have answered.

“No,” the other said coldly.

“You okay?”

“We need to talk.” Dream never took out a chair, and instead moved over to George to sit on the table next to his food. “About yesterday’s events.”

George quirked an eyebrow and gulped down the remaining bits of his pear before eyeing Dream with a slight hint of fear in his eyes. “Uh… Yeah, what about them?” He asked with his mouth full, hesitation dripping from his words.

“George,” Dream began speaking and glanced towards the chandelier on the ceiling in thought. “Who are you loyal to?”

“You, obviously,” George was utterly confused, but outside of his conscious mind, he knew why he was being interrogated. And truthfully, it scared him more than he let on.

“Wrong answer.”

“How could that be-“

“You replied saying you’re loyal to me. That implies there was a choice. Which means you’ve thought about it, which then means you did put your loyalty in question at some point. Have you questioned it, George?” The green-eyed man fidgeted with a piece of thread hanging from his fingerless gloves.

“That makes absolutely no sense. I said you because that’s the truth, you’re overcomplicating it.” George defended himself, grabbing for another piece of fruit but Dream slapped his hand away.

“Don’t lie to me. Never, ever lie to me, you know that I will be able to tell.”

“Why would I lie about that?” The king’s voice raised an octave, quickly falling into frustration.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Dream scoffed.

George rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so annoying.”

“This isn’t a friendly conversation; I am asking you a question.” Dream didn’t care that he was talking to one of his closest people, he wasn’t afraid to pull out a knife and threaten George’s life if it would get him any closer to the real answer.

When the king suddenly felt the coldness of Dream’s blade against his throat, he sucked in a breath and froze in place. “You’re scaring me,” he admitted, giving the other a pleading wide-eyed gaze. “We’re friends, you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t really hurt me. Just put the knife down.”

“I’ll ask one more time,” Dream got in his face, eyes meeting George’s dark brown ones full of unexplainable emotions. “Are you loyal to me?”

A dangerous thought flashed in George’s mind – was it worth staying loyal to a man who threatened the life of their best friend? He chased it away instantly and his internal mechanisms, conditioned to work this way, repressed it deep into his brain the second it appeared. “Yes.” He whispered, but the knife did not move from the soft skin of his neck.

“Then prove it.” Dream spat out.

George felt brave for a moment, saying something he regretted right after. “Why should I, the king, prove my loyalty to you?”

A wry chuckle coming from Dream echoed through the large dining hall. He released George, stepping off the table and making his way out of the room in agonizingly slow steps. “Fine,” he smiled, but it was drenched in acid. “I’ll see you around, then.”

As he was about to exit the room, George thought to himself. “Wait!” In an abrupt move, he stood up from the chair and pushed it underneath the table so it banged loud enough even to startle Dream and make him stop in his tracks. The blond man turned back around, arms crossed, and waited for George to continue speaking. “Alright, yes, yes I’ll prove my loyalty. What do I have to do?” He spoke in a frantic tone and ran up to Dream.

“Well,” Dream tapped his foot against the ground, eyes flying left and right as he looked up to think of the perfect deed that could redeem George’s non-existent betrayal. “Finish what Sapnap had started.”

“And that is…?” George urged him to talk. A possibility of Dream’s idea crossed his mind, but he didn’t want to imagine it. He dearly hoped it wasn’t what he thought it would be.

“Come with me on a trip to find Wilbur and that boy.”

“Tommy, yes.”

“Great, you know his name, too!” Dream laughed, the iciest sarcasm spilling into the air.

“So what do I have to do?” He wordlessly begged for it to be something else, and not the devastating image he had in mind.

“Kill Wilbur.”

George’s jaw dropped in shock, even if he had predicted the idea. He felt as if his feet were nailed to the floor, and there was a hundred pounds weighing on his arms. The only thing ringing in his ears was the erratic heartbeat thumping in his chest. “I- but why?” He pushed the words through the lump in his throat.

“Because he would have been dead yesterday if it wasn’t for you.” Dream explained in the most casual voice, and it made George want to punch through a bedrock wall.

“He doesn’t- “

 _He doesn’t deserve to die_ , George wanted to say. He was ready to say it, but fear prevented any other sound to come out.

“We leave tonight. I will accompany you to make sure you do your job and finish him off.”

“But why- he-“ George felt sick to his stomach. Wilbur was a man who he helped survive the night, someone he shielded from monsters and lead back to his younger brother. God, the image of Tommy running into his arms in pure relief knowing Wilbur made it back alive – his insides twisted at the thought of taking that innocent man’s life.

“You said you wanted to prove yourself, so I’m giving you an opportunity. Wilbur should have died, and as soon as Sapnap was ready to kill him, you decided to save him. And for what reason? He’s meaningless to us, he’s a trespasser and an enemy, a low-class man with no use to anybody with his lack of combat skills and a weak physical state. Yet you decided to step in.” Dream placed a hand on George’s shoulder, leaning into his face once again. “So kill him.”

George gulped and nodded in obedience. Every hair on his body stood up, and he felt rage boil in his veins until his heart was on fire. “Okay.”

“Good.”

With that final word, Dream was gone, and George was left alone with a clouded mind. He had to remind himself why he even accepted the order in the first place – Dream had always been on his side, helped him, they fought shoulder to shoulder in every battle since they were teenagers. He had only known Wilbur for a brief moment. Friendship and loyalty came first, right? If one death could bring him closer to his best friend, maybe it was worth it.

But how would Wilbur’s brother feel? How was he supposed to kill him right in front of Tommy’s eyes and still consider himself a good man?

This was his fault. “I should have never told Dream about them,” he muttered under his breath and rubbed his temples in circular motions as a headache began to rise from his forehead towards the top of his head. “I should have left them alone, this is all my fault…” He cursed himself.

If he had stayed quiet, Wilbur and Tommy would have still had a home, but he chose loyalty to the Dream SMP instead.

Was it worth it?

* * *

In George’s eyes, evening had never come quicker.

He spent the day locked in his bedroom, not granting access to any visitors, as he wanted to think alone and come up with ideas that could get him out of this situation. Waiting for Dream and pacing around the room in anxiety, George kept throwing glances at the door whenever a sound of footsteps could be heard from the hallway. Eventually, those footsteps belonged to the person whose arrival he had anticipated.

“Grab your sword, we’re leaving,” Dream didn’t beat around the bush, but George was still terrified by the lack of greeting. There was something fatally cold in Dream’s voice that made icicles grow underneath his skin. 

George gave him an apprehensive nod and walked to the other side of the room to pick up his diamond sword, the same one had borrowed Wilbur during his duel with Sapnap. He shuddered at the memory and took the weapon by its handle, putting it through the leather belt holder on his uniform. “How are we supposed to find them? They could have gone in any direction.”

“The Farmlands are the only place where they wouldn’t get kicked out instantly,” Dream shrugged. “They’d get slaughtered in the Badlands, and it would be hard for them to cross the river to get there in the first place. Same goes for the Rapids.”

“So we go onto the Farmlands territory? Under whose permission?” George insisted on questioning in order to stall. Dream noticed, but gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Don’t you remember that they’ve had no president for years? Ever since the last one died, it’s been pure anarchy.”

“Right.” George looked to the side, trying to avoid any eye contact with the other. “Why aren’t you bringing a sword as well? It’s nighttime.”

“You’ll defend me, won’t you?” Dream chuckled in a low voice and gestured for George to exit towards the hallway.

The power it took for George not to say ‘no’ was incredible. He felt like keeping that single word in made his energy levels drop halfway to zero, and he hated himself for even wishing he didn’t have to protect someone who was allegedly his best friend in the entire world.

The sound of their intense steps resonated throughout the large chambers as they made their way out of the castle, provoking George’s anxiety and putting a new kind of pressure on his heart. For the first time, he was detached, and the polished stone beneath his feet felt like dirt soaked in rain, nothing but a pile of mud. He shut his eyes for a second to chase away the sensation, but made it his mission to stay outwardly calm so Dream wouldn’t see his hesitation more than he already had.

As soon as they were out of the castle, he breathed in the fresh air deeply enough to feel it in his stomach, and it helped him relax. He didn’t like that it helped him relax, though. He was on a mission to kill somebody. How on Earth did he deserve a second of inner peace?

He was more than aware that after Wilbur was dead, George would never get a full night’s sleep ever again. And he was a man who valued sleep more than this entire kingdom.

“You know,” Dream began in a regular tone, as if nothing was happening. It made George scrunch his face and want to put his hands over his ears. Yet he listened. “When we get to the Farmlands, we could loot some stuff before going back home.”

“Stealing from poor people, how moral of you,” George commented with an eye roll he didn’t let Dream notice.

“What? We’ve been doing that together since the beginning, I don’t know why you’re so pressed about everything all of a sudden.”

“You’re right.” The older man said, his voice distraught.

All the inhumane deeds he had done flashed in front of his eyes, reminding him that he wasn’t a good person, and that he didn’t have to worry about becoming one. Wilbur wasn’t the first innocent man he was forced to kill. Plenty have died on his hands, yet none would have been dead if it wasn’t for Dream sending out the orders.

The nighttime ambience of the forest edge calmed his nerves a bit once he indulged in the gentle sounds of rustling trees, distinctive chirping of crickets, and leaves crunching beneath his combat boots – all the noises combined weren’t enough to block the self-hatred filling his brain, but they eased him into the walk and made him forget about Dream for a second. They were too close to Wilbur and Tommy’s old house, too close for his liking. Luckily, Dream headed towards the plains instead of going deeper into the forest.

Having his peaceful stroll next to George, Dream was contemplating the lack of monsters in their surroundings. No chance for George to prove himself in defending him. He wasn’t a fan of that. Somewhere deep down, he knew that his friend was going to refuse to kill Wilbur or try to get around it. Neither of them was stupid, they were always aware of what the other person had on his mind.

But if he was going to kill him, Dream would never question his loyalty again.

They noticed a distant light source and headed towards it, knowing they finally were on Farmlands territory. George’s stomach turned inside out. The paralyzing feeling was worse than stage fright when needing to hold royal speeches for the kingdom every year, it made him want to throw up on the spot and pass out for a whole week. His inner voice kept telling him to get it together, that this wasn’t his first time doing something like this. But he couldn’t get it together. If only this was a nightmare, if only he could slap himself and wake up in the safety of his bed, this wasn’t real, nothing was real, if he wished hard enough it would stop being real…

“George?” Dream stopped walking to look at him. “You’re mumbling to yourself, are you okay?”

“Oh.” George froze. “I didn’t notice, sorry. I’m fine, yeah, just- just thinking.”

Dream hummed in response and made his way to the house in the distance, George following right behind. “Thinking about what?” He had to ask after a minute of silence.

“Stuff,” the shorter man replied.

“They could be in this house,” he pointed at the yellow cottage house they were nearing. “It’s the first sign of life south of their former place. You know, the one on _our territory_.”

“Yup.” George did not have enough willpower to care. So what, Wilbur and Tommy might have been hiding at someone else’s property in the fucking Farmlands? Why would he give a shit, when it wasn’t on Dream SMP land anymore?

He felt himself becoming angry again, so he took a deep breath to make the fire die down.

Every step closer towards the house was agony.

“What do we even do? Just… Walk in, kill a man and leave?”

“Pillage and plunder. As we do.” Dream was way too calm about his for George’s liking.

“As we do,” George chuckled, bitterness obvious in his attitude.

They approached the scratched birch door and Dream waited for George to make a move instead of doing the work himself. He expected the other to tear the door down, come in with a bang, but George just gave it a couple of soft knocks.

It took a minute of devastating silence for Dream to become impatient, wanting to barge in himself – and as he was about to, the door creaked open at last. He was met face to face with an injured Wilbur, the man’s face covered with a bandage over his nose from the scar Sapnap inflicted on him.

“Uh,” Wilbur blinked a couple of times, rubbing his eyes to check if he was awake. “Hello?” He muttered through a mix of panic and confusion. The people who had almost killed him returned. He was oblivious that they were here to finish the job, but somehow, he felt the aggression behind Dream’s unmasked eyes. He was even more terrifying without the mask, Wilbur noted.

Dream whispered something in George’s ear, which Wilbur couldn’t hear. He didn’t have to, because he knew exactly what it was based on George’s fearful reaction.

“I can’t,” George’s voice began to tremble, “I can’t do it.” He stared at the taller man in front of him, noticing how he hid half his body behind the door. It was so obvious he was terrified even if he didn’t show it. The image of him curled up in the dirt behind a sweet berry bush flashed in front of his eyes again, crying and begging for George not to hurt him. He recalled his bravery as well. No one had challenged Sapnap to a duel before, no one was crazy enough to do something like that. Wilbur wasn’t ordinary, but he was poor. His coat was ragged, sleeves bloody; George couldn’t bring himself to hurt him.

Wilbur’s tired gaze moved from George to Dream and back. He didn’t know where to look. “Do what?” He asked. “Kill me?”

George sighed and dropped his sword on the ground in a gentle manner to avoid startling anybody who might have been asleep inside the house. “I’m sorry, Dream.” He offered Wilbur a reassuring nod and Wilbur nodded back, still confused.

The blond man sneered at George, taking a couple of steps back from the door. “Okay, George,” he chuckled, murder behind his smile. “You’re exiled.”

“What?” George shouted. “You can’t exile me, I’m the king!”

“Don’t you remember who made you king, George?” Dream picked up the other man’s diamond sword from the ground and advanced towards Wilbur, who instantly raised his arms in the air and inhaled sharply, holding his breath while Dream held the tip of the sword against his chest. He couldn’t afford to fight again in his current physical state. “And for you,” he continued. “Run fast and run far if you want to keep breathing.”

“Dream, stop that!” The now dethroned man interjected and stepped between Dream and Wilbur, pushing away the sword from the other’s chest. “He did nothing, leave him alone.”

He had nothing left to prove, nothing left to lose. He could only defend the man who was the reason he got exiled by his best friend. Tears pooled in his eyes as he stood in front of Dream. How was he supposed to feel? Was this his fault?

“George.” Dream glared. “Move or you’re the one dying tonight.”

Wilbur and George looked at each other, both men equally fearing for their lives. They were on the same side now, fighting the same evil – except George felt more hurt than he had ever been. His best friend threatened his life, threw him out of the land they had built together, all because he didn’t want to commit murder in the middle of the night. His breaths quickened, soon enough turning into hyperventilation, and the tears he had tried hard to repress started to run down his face in silent streams. “You wouldn’t.” He gasped.

The green-eyed man raised the sword above his head and slashed the air in one swift motion, aiming for George’s throat - and before George could react, he was pushed aside with a force stronger than the wind. He fell to the ground without a bruise, as a deafening shriek of pain cut through his ears from above.

Instead of harming George, Dream’s blade collided with Wilbur’s shoulder, piercing through his skin until he was bleeding once again. Wilbur didn’t stop fighting, though. He wanted to take the sword away from Dream, charging at him with no hesitation. Enough was enough, he thought to himself. He might have surrendered once, but never again. George brushed off the dirt from his uniform and jumped Dream from the back and tried to hold his arms behind his back, while Wilbur kicked him in the shins. Dream was almost undefeatable. He dodged every attack, keeping a tight grip on George’s diamond sword, but Wilbur and George’s constant kicks from all sides managed to leave him breathless after a while.

Wilbur’s mind ran a hundred miles an hour. He thought back to his duel. Perhaps he could learn from the best. Seizing the split second of Dream’s vulnerability, he ignored the pulsating pain in his arm and grabbed hold of the sword, not letting go as much as his body wanted him to. Dream reacted slower than he should have, and George managed to push him into the grass. The sword was in Wilbur’s hands. He wheezed breathlessly, stepping on Dream’s chest just like Sapnap did to him. But there was a difference between him and Sapnap – Wilbur would never even try to finish Dream off.

“Leave,” he commanded to the helpless man beneath his boot. The pain from his sliced shoulder radiated through the whole right side of his body, and he felt the warmth of his own blood drench his coat. He felt as if his lungs were going to explode. No matter the agony, he did not retreat. “If I ever find you on _my_ territory again, I’ll hurt you.” He spat and released Dream from the ground.

“You might have won this time,” Dream breathed heavily, “but this isn’t the end.”

George stood in absolute shock, not knowing how to act and who to trust anymore. He was exiled from his own kingdom. By his best friend. His best friend tried to kill him. The ringing in his ears wouldn’t go away ever since he heard Wilbur cry out, and the resonance of the sound lingered in his bones.

Once Dream picked himself up and walked away in the direction of the north, glancing back at Wilbur and George once in a while, peace returned to the plains.

Wilbur felt lightheaded. He lost blood again, as if he could afford to. “Here,” he handed the sword back to George, and gave him a thankful smile.

George blinked and took the object as if he acted on autopilot. “You…” He started to speak, gaping at the taller man. “You saved my life.”

“Well, you saved mine,” Wilbur shrugged, the action causing him to wince in pain. “Twice.”

By now, they were meters away from the house, still surprised at how Tommy and Tubbo managed to sleep through all the commotion. They trod back to the door, George helping Wilbur walk as he did once before.

“He’s not my best friend, is he?” George mumbled. “Would a best friend want me dead?”

“Nope,” Wilbur laughed, but the sound was overflowing with sadness. These last few nights had been more overwhelming than possibly anything in his homeless-nomadic life career.

“A best friend wouldn’t make me kill an innocent man to prove loyalty to my own kingdom.” George kept muttering to himself.

“Oh, that’s what that was about! Shit, then it’s my fault you got exiled. Sorry, man.” Wilbur assigned himself the job of trying to lighten the atmosphere, but nothing was working on a traumatized George.

They snuck back inside Tubbo’s house and Wilbur closed the heavy door behind them, relieved that he was safe again. Noticing that George stood at the entrance with no idea what to do, he took out a chair and gestured for the other to sit on it. The tormented man nodded and had a seat. Wilbur limped over to the kitchen cupboard where he remembered Tubbo kept the gauze and bandages, taking the roll of cloth and wrapping it around the gash on his shoulder until the pressure was painful enough to cause sharp tingles deep inside the cut. He felt good tending to his own wounds. It was harder, but it made him feel independent.

“How do you cope?” George uttered the question quietly, in a broken tone.

Wilbur whipped his head around towards the other. “With what?”

“Losing everything.”

“I haven’t lost anything,” Wilbur sat across him, even more exhausted than before. “As long as I have a roof above my head and my brother next to me unharmed, I have everything.”

“You don’t get it,” George frowned.

“Oh, really? Try me.”

“I fought with Dream by my side since I was eighteen. We formed a kingdom together, as best friends, and met Sapnap who quickly became equally close to us. It was supposed to be a matter of friendship, but… But it feels like it has turned into a fight for power. We have killed so many, Wilbur, I cannot get them out of my head. You’re the first person I refused to kill, and look at where it got me.” The ex-king dropped his face into his hands. “I didn’t want you to be another face haunting me at night.”

Wilbur understood everything. Perhaps he wasn’t a killer, but he knew exactly how it felt to be exposed to such suffering at a young age. “I wouldn’t haunt you, I’d be a friendly ghost.” He smiled. “Ghostbur.”

“Shut up,” George breathed a tiny laugh and wiped away his tears. “I still see this face, this woman I killed four years ago...”

“Why did you have to do it?” Wilbur inquired.

“She came to the Dream SMP all tired and worn out with her ten-year-old son asking for help. Her husband was sick, nobody could figure out why, and she came to us because we have the best equipped hospitals, natural remedies, everything. Dream refused to help her, but she wasn’t going to back off. So he told her that if she doesn’t leave, I’d have to execute-“

“Wait, sorry,” the curly-haired man interrupted. This story seemed familiar. Maybe it was déjà vu, he couldn’t figure out where he had heard it for the life of him. “Never mind, continue.”

“Alright. Anyway, she tried to fight back and begged for help. Dream said no. She offered money, and he said he’d only help if she gave her life. He appointed me as the executioner. I negotiated, but I- I honestly don’t know how he made me do such a thing. I killed her in front of her fucking son.” George began to cry again. He hadn’t opened up to someone in a long time.

“Oh my god.” Wilbur’s eyes were suddenly as wide as saucers. Realization struck. He connected the dots. His heart climbed to his throat. “You killed Tubbo’s mother.”

“What…?” George averted his gaze towards the horrified man. “You know the boy?”

“George,” Wilbur’s breathing intensified, a million emotions ran through his blood and pumped his heart with devastation.

“Yes?”

“This is Tubbo’s house.”


	7. The Creation (J. Haydn)

“This is Tubbo’s house.” George’s heart decided it wasn’t worth functioning anymore. He felt it squeeze against his ribs trying to escape, making him think he was going to flatline any moment now. The arrhythmic pumping of blood banged in his ears, until he couldn’t bear the pulsating feeling taking over his body, fluttering in his stomach as if he had swallowed a vibrating alarm clock. He was sure he could manage anything that would ever be thrown at him. He was convinced that by now, he was desensitized to every tragedy in the book. Hiding under the roof of a boy he traumatized was not one of them.

The utter shame and deep-rooted self-loathing prevented him from saying a word, as Wilbur’s shocked gaze fell upon George’s equally frightened eyes.

A shared minute of silence had passed. The dense, impervious feeling of dread lingered in the air, thick enough for George to touch it.

He needed to leave. He wasn’t welcome here. But something glued him to the chair, debilitated him and he felt stuck. Instead of detaching, he became hyperaware of every texture that came in contact with his body, and they felt itchy underneath his skin to the point of wishing he could cut out the itch like a piece of paper.

“George, it’s going to be okay,” Wilbur’s soft voice offered him temporary consolation, and George grabbed onto it, feeling as if the world was ending. At least his world.

“No,” he muttered, “I’m a terrible person.”

“We all do bad things, it doesn’t make us- “

“How many people have you murdered, Wilbur?” George interrupted, becoming gradually angrier with each passing second. “How many children have you scarred for life?”

“One, if you count Tommy,” he tried to break the tension.

“You have no idea how it feels to be a disgusting human being, you have no clue how much energy it drains to hate yourself every day more and more until you can’t take it anymore and you can’t look in the mirror because all you see is pathetic, undeserving of breath, a fucking killer,” George started pacing around the dining table, aggressively gesticulating and not even attempting to calm himself down anymore. “I’ve tried so hard to repress these feelings for so fucking long, and it’s become too much.”

Wilbur remained silent. He understood too well to speak, and nothing he could say was going to help George’s case. But Wilbur knew self-hatred more than anything, held it tight against his chest and let it fester – it grew bigger and stronger with each sunrise. George and he were more alike than the other thought.

“Maybe it’s good I got exiled!” George’s voice trembled. He put his hands up in the air and let them flop back to the sides of his body, like was asking a silent question that didn’t have an answer. “Maybe this is a new era of my life,” he laughed.

“I think you should sit down,” Wilbur became concerned, noting down every mannerism of a mental breakdown in George’s gestures. His body ached for the other man’s sorrow.   
  
“Have you ever been so hurt by someone you loved, so fucking hurt that you thought your entire body would give out? It feels like pouring hot lava on my chest. It’s so fucking bad, Wilbur, I don’t know what to do,” George pressed down around his heart and cried out when he failed to get rid of the way it burned.   
  
_Yes_ , Wilbur wanted to respond. _My family let me down._ But he didn’t. It wasn’t his time to speak about the pain he’d gone through. Instead, he took a few gentle steps towards George as not to startle him, and pulled him into a soft embrace, letting him cry on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said.   
  
George was taken aback by the affection. A part of him had the urge to fight against it, but he admitted to himself that he desperately needed comfort. He returned the hug and felt Wilbur rest his chin on his head, something that Dream used to do when they were younger and not as emotionally unavailable. The little action made his tears flow harder. It was agony, to feel this way.   
  
This was not easy for Wilbur either. Immense guilt flooded his systems, knowing that he was comforting the killer responsible for making his friend an orphan, no less than the friend who took him under his roof. If Tubbo found out, would he hate him? He was torn between protecting George and staying truthful to Tubbo, fully aware how challenging it would be to choose both. If only he could help Tubbo show forgiveness towards George.   
  
At times, understanding everyone’s perspective felt like a curse, rather than a gift.   
  
“Did he even love me?” George asked through a bout of sobs wracking his throat.   
  
“I’m sure he did,” Wilbur reassured and rubbed soothing circles onto the smaller man’s back. “But power corrupts.”   
  
They stayed in this embrace for some time, both fulfilling their needs for comfort they greatly lacked, and neither spoke until their eventual separation from the hug, Wilbur being the one to pull away first. He didn’t want to, but when his daily dose of nausea returned to his stomach, he had no choice.   
  
“Thank you,” George smiled, eyes blurry from past tears. “I needed this, Wilbur.”   
  
“Yeah,” the other returned the smile. Pins and needles infested the left side of his body, numbing his arm and leg to the point where he could barely feel his limbs attached to him. Yet another pounding headache struck. He shut his eyes, only to find out it made the pain a thousand times sharper. Air couldn’t make it to his lungs, causing him to panic and press his fingers into his chest until it reached an unbearable level of pain – the area was tender to the touch. He silently pretended everything was alright, and lucky for him George was distracted by his own thoughts to notice Wilbur’s squirming and desperate attempts to alleviate the tightness buried behind his ribcage. He scrunched his face and bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed. Anything to prevent himself from making a noise. It felt as if a metal rod impaled his chest and stretch all the way to his abdomen, honing his lungs like an unsharpened blade and leaving abrasions over his internal organs. Maybe if he found where it originated, it would go away. But it was impossible to tell. The spot dodged his touch and hid like an itch he couldn’t scratch.   
  
The voice in his head counted his breaths, one by one, trying to regain control over them. Sometimes he was sure his body was more dysfunctional than his family. And that said a lot.   
  
“I need to sleep,” Wilbur announced, voice raspy and breathless.   
  
George broke out of his trance at the words and snapped his head around to look at the other. “Am I allowed to stay the night? Or should I leave before the boy sees me?”   
  
“I… I don’t know.” If Wilbur let him stay, would he be a terrible person? Or would he be worse if kicked him out? Then again, he was going to hell in the eyes of the Universe one way or the other, and either way somebody would be put in a bad position, so it didn’t really matter much. “You can sleep here.” He decided to talk to Tubbo about it when he wakes up.   
  
As much as George felt undeserving, he was too exhausted to fight his biological needs. He accepted the offer, and chose to lie on the floor. “Thanks.”   
  
“You’re welcome.” It slipped Wilbur’s mind how damaging it would be for Tubbo to see his mother’s executioner sleeping in his fucking kitchen, but that was a thought for the morning.   
  
For now, he needed rest, and he needed it now.   
  
  
* * *   
  
  
With the rise of yet another dawn over the crystal-clear skies of the Farmlands, Tubbo was the first to wake up from his soft slumber. He shuffled underneath the bedsheets, turning on his side and realizing he had fallen asleep on Tommy’s bed. The other boy was hanging off the other side, nearly tumbling off. He wasn’t planning to take up space in the guest room, but the last thing he remembered was sitting down with Tommy to talk about life. Obviously, he was too drained for philosophical discussions, because his only memory of the conversation was faint and blurry, fading away in a matter of seconds.   
  
“Tommy?” He croaked out in a hoarse morning voice.   
  
The blond boy pulled the blanket over his head, ruffling his already unkempt bush of hair. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled wearily.   
  
“C’mon,” Tubbo urged him out of bed.   
  
“Ugh,” Tommy rolled around a little more and sat up ever so slightly. “Fine…”   
  
Unlike Tommy, who was able to sleep for twenty-four hours without interruption and insisted on being cranky after waking up, Tubbo was somewhat of a morning person. He taught himself to welcome every day with open arms, bringing sunshine into it even when the sky refused to do the same. He would usually make himself a healthy breakfast of eggs and bread, greet the nature around his house and go on a walk to freshen up his brain, but since Wilbur and Tommy sort of ‘moved in’ under an unspoken agreement, the first thing he had been doing was check up on them to make sure they were alright. Especially Wilbur, as he was more susceptible to injury and sickness.   
  
Before entering the living room, Tubbo shuffled over to the guest bedroom and pushed the door open in the gentlest manner so he wouldn’t make a sound in case the other was still asleep. Wilbur was already wide awake, writing away in a little brown notebook he held up on his thighs. His dark brown eyes glowed with tiredness underneath a round pair of spectacles that Tubbo hadn’t seen earlier. “You wear glasses?” He asked instead of wishing him a good morning.   
  
“Yes,” Wilbur looked up from where his pen took him to give Tubbo a small smile. “Only for reading and writing.”   
  
“Cool,” the younger replied. “Want me to get you something to eat?”   
  
“I’m good, thanks.” The curly man shook his head.   
  
“When was the last time you ate?” Tubbo inquired, always worried about the other.   
  
“Tubbo, it’s fine,” Wilbur said quickly, but with a harsh cut to his voice.   
  
“Well, I’ll fry some eggs for me and Tommy, you do as you please,” the boy chuckled, rolling his eyes. Wilbur might have been the adult, but sometimes he was a bigger child than the actual children in this house. Tubbo didn’t mind, though, as he preferred to take on a caring role instead of being the one taken care of. It felt more natural.   
  
Any other day, Tommy would take his sweet time getting out of bed, but today he wanted to spend time with Tubbo in the morning, thinking that if he waited too long, some new catastrophe would happen in the afternoon and ruin his plans once again. He was more than a little tired from being in grave danger. In a matter of minutes, he was out the door and following Tubbo through the house like a lost puppy.   
  
The two boys stepped towards the living room, thinking they were going to make some food and have a chat (well, Tubbo as the cook, and Tommy as the chatterbox), but their sight was a lot different than expected.   
  
Tommy’s gaze fell upon a familiar face sitting at his dining table.   
  
“What the fuck-?” He uttered, not knowing whether it was a question or a statement. “What the fuck is that king George fella doing here?” He scratched his head in confusion. This man saved Wilbur’s life the other night, but also threw them out of Logstedshire, so Tommy wasn’t sure how to feel about him. He guessed he couldn’t have been as bad as the other two idiots, when he refused to let Sapnap cut Wilbur’s throat in the duel.   
  
“You…” Tubbo froze. His eyes locked to the figure. “You killed my mother.”   
  
Or maybe he was worse?   
  
Tommy realized that Tubbo was in too much shock to do anything, so he took the lead in the conversation. “Why are you in our kitchen?” He asked the soldier dressed in blue.   
  
“Kind of a strange story,” George bit his lip, looking around as to avoid making eye contact with the boys. “Wilbur can tell it!” He exclaimed once he saw Wilbur appear from the guest room, grateful he wouldn’t have to be the one explaining such an unusual circumstance. His eyes pleaded wordlessly, and Wilbur shot him a sharp look of agreement.   
  
Every face in the room turned to the tall man.   
  
Wilbur blinked a couple of times, still processing the situation, and let out a breath he had carried in for years. He felt Tubbo’s deathly glare prick the skin on his chest.   
  
“So?” Tubbo’s ice-coated words punctured his lungs. “Why is this horrible man sitting under my roof?”   
  
“Well,” Wilbur’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his yellow sleeves. “Dream exiled him and threatened to kill us both. We fought against him and- and George needed a place to rest.”   
  
“Did he tell you what he’d done to me?” Tubbo choked out.   
  
“He did,” the brunet admitted. The ice grew thicker in the air. “Tubbo, it was Dream’s fault, everything is. George had no choice, he was manipulated. And last night, he made his first ever choice to change for the better, he refused to kill me even though it was an order, and it got him thrown out. Dream is the culprit, he’s the one we should all be angry with.”   
  
“That doesn’t change the fact that I watched George execute my mother in front of my eyes,” Tubbo felt the image flash in front of his eyes, making him jolt and cover his ears so he wouldn’t remember the noises. Fiery flames of traumas and bad memories licked against his senses, and it burned him until he could barely catch a breath. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, wishing he could erase the thoughts if he tried hard enough.

_“Tubbo, I’m so sorry, I love you,” his mother sobs out before her final moments. He promises himself to hold onto those words tight until the day he would meet his end. It’s terrifying, but he can’t force himself to look away. They only came here for help, why would they do this, why would they kill her, stop screaming, please make it stop, why is no one stopping it, now there’s a blade against her throat, and-_

His vision faded to black.   
  
Wilbur’s heart was scorched from guilt. He grabbed Tubbo from the back as he lost consciousness, about to lay him down onto the floor before he remembered it was the same floor where George had slept last night. He couldn’t allow that to happen, so he carried the boy to his room and gently lowered him onto the soft mattress. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, even though Tubbo could not hear it. More than guilt, it was so much more than guilt. Shame, embarrassment, with just enough self-loathing to make the acidity grow stronger.   
  
To think he considered himself an empathetic person. If he saw his father appear out of nowhere, he would have a similar reaction, but instead of passing out he would be engulfed in an endless hurricane of emotions pushing him to death. And yet he did this to Tubbo! Wilbur wrapped his arms around a pillow and waited for the boy to regain his sense of the world.   
  
“I’m alive,” Tubbo muttered a few seconds later. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, glancing at Wilbur with uncertainty flashing in his eyes. “How could you?” He quailed.   
  
“I don’t know,” Wilbur’s shoulders slumped forward. “I wasn’t sure what to do, and obviously I made the wrong choice. I’m sorry.”   
  
_I let you stay in my home, offer you safety and food and water and a comfortable bed, yet this is how you treat me? You can say you weren’t thinking, but my mother’s killer is still in my kitchen, and I’m reliving the past. It hurts more than anything, and it’s your fault. I’m trying so hard to be a forgiving person. I don’t want to be angry, but I am. I’m devastated, and I want you out of my house for bringing this memory back to my head._   
  
“It’s okay,” Tubbo sighed. “Not your fault.” He swallowed down the reality of his emotions, letting them flow down his body and filtering them out until they were nothing but another bubble of repressed anger clogging his respiratory system.   
  
“I’ll go tell George to leave,” Wilbur made a move to get up, but Tubbo interrupted.   
  
“No, he can stay.”   
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
"It would be rude of me to send an exiled man into the wilderness to fend for himself,” Tubbo shrugged. “I’m going to be alright.”   
  
Wilbur didn’t believe a word he said. He was certain that Tubbo wasn’t telling the truth, but he didn’t feel like pushing it in order to keep the peace. “Thank you,” he said, and held his hand out to help Tubbo get up – even if unneeded, he thought it would be a nice gesture.   
  
They headed back to the living room, the volume of Tommy’s aggressive voice increasing with every step closer.   
  
“-and you fucked us over!” The blond boy paced around George, arms flailing through the air as he shouted at the shorter man. “Fuck you and your stupid kingdom, they’re probably all ugly. No wonder that Dream bitch wears a mask! Next time I see him, I’ll take it off just so I can laugh at his stupid face when I kill him. I’ll train to become the best warrior in this fucking land just so I can beat your dumb ass- “   
  
“Tommy,” Wilbur smirked with mirth, “please shut up, you’re embarrassing yourself.”   
  
“This idiot,” Tommy pointed directly at George’s forehead, “hurt you and Tubbo and made us abandon Logstedshire! I don’t have any fucking mercy on him, alright?” He fumed, but uncertain whether he was only pretending to be intimidating as a coping mechanism.   
  
“As much as I hated leaving Logstedshire, George did save my life multiple times, and I understand why he reported us for occupying a part of their territory. It’s what one does when they’re loyal to a country, or a kingdom,” Wilbur explained to calm down his enraged brother.   
  
“But what about Tubbo?!” Tommy stood by his friend.   
  
“It’s completely fine,” the other boy couldn’t help but chuckle at Tommy’s shenanigans. No matter what happened, he could always brighten his mood. “I appreciate your care, Tommy.”   
  
“We’re best friends, I’ll protect you with my life if I have to!”   
  
All previous tension in Tubbo’s chest dissipated at those words. He had a friend, somebody who cared about him enough to protect him, and suddenly it felt as if a waterfall of love extinguished the burning sensation that had spread through his body. Wilbur’s mistake didn’t matter, and George’s lingering presence moved into the background of his mind – as long as he had Tommy by his side, he would be fine. He had never expected to be loved again.   
  
“I’ll go make us all some food,” Tubbo snapped out of his thoughts and headed into the kitchen. Tommy followed right behind.   
  
“Even George?” Tommy asked, mock disgust in his voice. “I think we should put mud in his eggs.”   
  
“That would be pretty funny,” the other snickered. “But Wilbur is right, he’s not the root of the problem. If anyone should get a mud omelette, it’s that Dream guy.”   
  
“I could probably take him down.”   
  
“I’m sure you could.”   
  
“Do you think we’ll be seeing more of him?”   
  
“To be fair,” Tubbo said as he cracked an egg against the kitchen counter, “I think we’ll never get rid of the damn Dream SMP people. They’ve been planning to expand onto the Farmlands territory for a while now, everybody knows that. Eventually, we’re going to have to either hide or fight.”   
  
“We could recruit more people and train with them,” Tommy suggested. “This is a big faction thing, is it not?”   
  
“It is.”   
  
“Oi, Wilbur!” Tommy shouted towards his brother who was having a quiet conversation with George at the dining table. “I’ve got a brilliant idea, come here!”   
  
Wilbur twisted his neck to look at Tommy and raised his eyebrows. “What d’you want, child?” He teased.   
  
“Come here!” The younger repeated himself, voice cracking and energy rising so the roof shook with the obnoxiousness. “George, you can come too, why the fuck not?” He waved his hand and gestured towards them.   
  
The two men exchanged a face of amusement, both shrugging as they got up to meet the Council of Tommy in the kitchen next to a calm Tubbo who just wanted to make breakfast in peace.   
  
“Listen up, everybody,” the boy began to speak. “Instead of hating each other and having internal conflicts, we should all team up to fight the real evil in this world, which is Dream. Tubbo, I know you can’t forgive George, but he’s a good soldier and would be very useful to us. We need to find even more people, and organize a- a thing, you know, to protect the land.”   
  
“A defensive city,” Wilbur added on, surprisingly intrigued by the idea. “Like a fortification on the northern border with the Dream SMP. It would be a city-state, not entirely independent but autonomous from the rest of the Farmlands.”   
  
“Yes, exactly! You get me,” Tommy almost jumped in excitement.   
  
“You want to build a fort out of my peaceful little farmhouse?” Tubbo mixed a couple of eggs in a bowl; with each swift movement the fork hit against the glass to create a piercing sound that pulsed in his ears.   
  
“It isn’t exactly peaceful,” Wilbur and Tommy uttered at the same time, bursting into a fit of laughter.   
  
Tubbo sighed in exasperation, but a smile played on his lips nonetheless. “Alright, let’s be the founding fathers of a city.”   
  
“And I’ll be the mayor!” Tommy announced.   
  
“No, I’m the mayor,” Wilbur bickered, just to spite the younger. “I’m the adult here, so I get to elect myself.”   
  
“It’s already an autocracy and it’s been five seconds,” George chuckled. “And I’m definitely older than all of you. But I’d prefer training the people, to make my combat skills useful to you against Dream. I can craft you weapons as well, I’ll do anything to make Tubbo hate me a little less and to fuck with Dream a little more.”   
  
Tubbo pursed his lips and gave the other a nod, recognizing the remorse behind the other’s eyes. He wasn’t going to forgive him, but he could offer another chance. His father would have loved the idea of running a city, or a nation, as he used to be the leader of the Farmlands until his deathbed. Maybe this would be a good thing, to carry his father’s legacy. “Okay, I will accept that.”   
  
How should we name our glorious city?” Tommy glanced towards Wilbur to ask the question, knowing he was good at coming up with titles and creative names for anything.   
  
Wilbur looked up towards the ceiling in thought and snapped his fingers for an idea to come to him. “Something pretentious… Pretentious and cocky, so we show off our power from the get-go. How about Manberg?”   
  
“Too harsh, sounds like sandpaper or nails against a chalkboard,” Tommy shuddered.   
  
“I know how to fix that. L’Manberg.” Wilbur put emphasis on the added letter, his pointer finger and thumb tapping the air as if he was beginning to conduct a musical piece. “Do you like it?”   
  
As soon as mutual agreement swarmed the room in a surge of optimistic momentum, Wilbur’s face broke into a grin and he closed his eyes to let his body get overwhelmed with warmth. This gave him a purpose, it made him stronger before it had even started.   
  
“L’Manberg it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, we have arrived at the creation of l'manberg!  
> the title is inspired by the oratorio "The Creation" by composer Joseph Haydn, so go listen to it if you wish.
> 
> i hope you enjoy reading the book so far as much as i enjoy writing it!
> 
> @SootStation on twitter


	8. Birth of a Nation

While the Farmlands experienced the official birth of a new city-state, tensions began to cloud the air of the Dream SMP. The news of their king being exiled had shaken up the citizens, and Dream felt mistrust radiating from the eyes of the audience as he spoke out on George’s betrayal on the podium. He wasn’t too fond of the questioning glances, the foggy muttering in the crowd, but instead of unleashing the frustrations on the people he ruled over, he calmly took a breath and cleared his throat.

Next to him stood Sapnap, his loyal soldier, but even he seemed on edge. Dream and George had been best friends for as long as the other could remember. It seemed too sudden, too planned. Nevertheless, he remained silent and listened to his friend and leader speak.

“If you see a tall, curly, dark-brown haired man in a yellow sweater with a blond boy following him around on our territory, don’t kill them. Imprison them instead, and bring them directly to me. For what they’ve done to our nation, and how they’ve manipulated our king, death is an easy way out, a weak punishment.” Dream spoke with eagerness in his voice as the people looked up at the balcony he spoke from. “Their names are Wilbur and Tommy, and they are the reason our great nation is experiencing a difficult time. But we will get through this. I will not allow a traitor to be the downfall spiral of my kingdom.”

“Your kingdom?” He heard a shout from the public.

“George has no blood relations, and I have always been the unofficial leader, so it was obvious from the start that I would receive the title of King. Except I will not use my title as a show-off label and be somebody’s figurine and nothing but a spokesperson. I will be the best leader this kingdom has ever seen. But the only way I can do that is if you trust me, and we all cooperate. Are you able to do that?” He raised an arm in the air, as cheers erupted from beneath the podium. Music to his ears, he thought, the sounds of the people.

He should have never given George the kingship.

“Okay,” he tried his best to prevent his lips from forming a cocky smirk, “in that case…”

His deep, forest green eyes loomed over the citizens, observing each face and noting who is trustworthy just from the aura surrounding their demeanor.

“My first decree,” Dream’s voice took on the strength of the Universe, “as the king, no- the _emperor-_ of this great country,” he threw Sapnap a quick glance and averted his eyes to the crowd, “is to expand our territory and finally conquer the long-promised Farmlands!”

And if in the process, he managed to rid Wilbur his final chance at life, it was going to be glorious.

“I vow to you all, the Dream SMP is going to be larger than ever before, by the end of this month. Our borders will expand towards the south, and the operation will commence on September 24th. In seven days. Meeting adjourned.”

After he finished his speech, and the crowd scattered to prepare for the first attack – apprentice swordsmen leaving to train under Captain Puffy, a knight who spent most of her time protecting the castle and teaching combat; archers following the great warrior Punz, the most skilled with a bow and arrow across the four factions; and the lone blacksmith Callahan retreating into his shed to work on a new set of glowing, royal ruby coloured netherite swords, along with diamond swords for the newer warriors.

Dream and Sapnap went inside the castle, to the room where George used to rest for fourteen hours a day. They walked alongside each other in absolute silence, and Dream was unsettled by his friend’s sudden change in behavior. He couldn’t help but feel on edge, still in shambles from his best friend’s betrayal of last night. George chose to protect Wilbur. Dream still wasn’t able to wrap his head around it. All he wanted to do was keep him around, and proving his loyalty was a completely normal thing to suggest in a situation of skepticism.

Perhaps he had pushed it too far. Although, he wasn’t going to blame himself. In the end, his suspicions turned out to be correct, as George didn’t want to fight by his side and kill on command. It was Wilbur’s fault at the core, but George contributed just as much.

This was a wonderful opportunity to finally take over the Farmlands’ territory, something no one had done in years, even though the lands were without an official leader. The Universe just loved him, he had always known it and he always would.

Sapnap’s silence weakened his internal monologue. “Why are you so quiet?” He had to ask the black-haired soldier.

“I…” Sapnap was caught off-guard by the words. “I’m thinking about how I’ll miss George, to be honest.”

“I mean, he’s a traitor, so he’s not really worth the thought.”

“You two were best friends for so long, Dream, how can you throw it away in a matter of seconds because of some minor misbehaving?” The younger man’s voice was peaceful, yet passionate. “If it’s so easy for you to cut ties with people, do you truly care about any of us?”

“Of course I care, Sapnap.” Dream sighed, twirling the tip of his sword on the floor in frustration. “I act impulsively when people cross me, that doesn’t mean I had never loved them.”

“I see.” Sapnap huffed. “You just proclaimed yourself the king. I’m sorry, don’t get me wrong, but it seems like you only got rid of George so you could have that podium all to yourself.”

Dream approached the man in a few antagonizing, slow steps. “Are you questioning my morals?”

“No- no, of course not!” The other stumbled backwards.

“I hope you won’t betray me as well,” Dream sighed, eyes drenched in brooding discontent as he glared through Sapnap as if he was a ghost. “I’m counting on you to stay trustworthy.”

“And I will!” Sapnap defended himself, maybe out of fear, but he wasn’t sure what he felt. Sadness was one of the emotions easier to discern, while the others were a confusing mess. “I give you my word, Dream. And I’ll prove my loyalty, if you wish, by leading the battle to conquer the northern Farmlands.”

“That’s a good idea,” Dream praised. “You can be the front lead, and I’ll be in the back. Don’t forget to tell Callahan to enchant your sword with the highest level of sharpness possible, you will need it. Even though the Farmlands live in anarchy, they aren’t as weak as one may think. And they are scattered all across the land.”

“What if we find George there? Do we say hi, do we kill him, you know…”

Dream mused silently, as he knew George was most likely in the most northern part of the land, possibly residing with Wilbur and Tommy in that disgusting yellow farmhouse. “We treat him just like any other enemy.” He shrugged.

A devious idea crossed his mind, but a near impossible one. He’d have to save it for a future occasion. Yes, perhaps it was a little sadistic, but it fueled his urges and he couldn’t have cared less.

“What if he repents and fights on our side?” Sapnap continued to inquire.

“Then we take him back, obviously. But only if he kills the one who he was appointed to get rid of in the first place, since that’s how needed to prove his loyalty.”

“Why are you so determined to get rid of Wilbur? I mean, I could’ve killed him the other day, but you know, as part of the duel. I don’t really care if he lives or dies, so what’s with the obsession?”

“He’s bad news,” Dream shot back. “I can feel it.”

“Or are you just paranoid?” Sapnap’s eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “He was so easy to defeat.”

 _Maybe for you_ , Dream thought to himself, not mentioning the instance in which Wilbur was able to bring him down to the ground and take the diamond sword right from his very hands. “He might seem like another weak, poor man, but I assure you, he’s a lot smarter and more skilled than he lets on. If we don’t get rid of potential threats immediately, they just fester until there’s no room for us to breathe.”

“Mhm,” the younger rolled his eyes to the side. “I’m sure he’s very powerful,” he mocked, stretching his syllables as if he spoke to a child. “The next great leader, if you ask me!”

“Sapnap.”

“Yes, Dream?” He finally felt more relaxed, able to banter with Dream as a friend, and not a leader. Those moments were becoming less and less common, so Sapnap made sure to hold onto them before they vanish from his grip and disintegrate into thin air.

“You’re so cocky sometimes, it’s unbelievable.” The blond man chuckled under his breath, running his fingers through the disheveled mess of his golden locks.

“Got that from you.”

“I know.” Dream allowed himself to smile, despite the ever-growing frustration in his stomach. “Hey, I’m the king now.” He chuckled, nearly forgetting about the piece of trivia. It came naturally to him to be the leader anyway, so the title didn’t matter much to him as a person.

Sapnap leaned against the doorframe and let out a deep exhale. “Congratulations. As if you weren’t sleeping in the castle before.”

“You know I’m too busy to build myself an actual home. In the end, I’m a citizen of the world, my body isn’t tied to a specific street and an insignificant location. I own everything the light touches.”

“And I am the cocky one?”

“Shut up,” Dream breathed out a laugh.

“Okay, King Dream. Go live your dream, I guess. I’m going to work out.”

“Have fun, Sap,” the other smiled softly. “See ‘ya.”

Sapnap couldn’t believe that he had ever felt a doubt regarding their friendship.

* * *

By the eve of L’Manberg’s first night alive, the boys had managed to recruit a couple of Farmlands citizens who lived nearby, all eager to participate in the project created to protect their home. They accepted Wilbur and Tommy as if they belonged to them by birth, and encouraged Wilbur to take the lead over the city-state since he seemed like a self-assured leader. He was hesitant at first, but consented after a bit of persuasion from the locals.

From the small town of Dry Waters, they got themselves a blonde-haired nurse called Niki, who agreed to act as a medic during war crises and dire life-or-death situations. She was also a baker in her free time and bonded with Tubbo over making bread for everybody. Wilbur and Niki spent the day chatting about various random subjects, and found out they had many things in common. Tommy wasn’t too fond of her, but Wilbur concluded it was because she caught everyone’s attention, which meant it wasn’t Tommy’s time to shine in the crowd.

Along with her, a former citizen of the same town, a builder by the name of Fundy decided to join L’Manberg. He did not waste a second, and had already constructed a cobblestone wall as the first layer of protection around Tubbo’s house, which he was fortifying and adding a sight tower so they could keep an eye out for attackers.

The final addition to their newborn city was Ranboo, a young boy between Tommy’s and Tubbo’s age, with an inability to keep eye contact and a tiny rock for fidgeting between his fingers. Niki and Fundy found him wandering through the plains without aim, and took him to Wilbur’s base in an instant. She treated his wounds and his skin burned underneath the wet tissue she held against it, and he barely spoke any words. He was a peculiar child, but they decided to take care of him – whether he would turn out to be a liability or a benefit, he deserved to have a home, and L’Manberg could provide him one.

“Well done, everybody,” Wilbur wiped sweat from his brow and sighed, leaning against the newly built wall they had all helped construct under Fundy’s control. His body ached, nausea pooled in his stomach, but he was satisfied with the work they had done, and knew he couldn’t allow himself weakness as he was the chosen leader of the city. This wasn’t a silly idea, it was a mission. It was power, and responsibility, and who knew where it would take him. “I think we can allow ourselves a break, yeah?” He shot a smile towards the people, and they agreed with a synchronized nod.

He could have never guessed that running away from home as a reckless teenager was going to bring him to the creation of something new, something beautiful… Something his, possibly a home to keep his loved ones safe within the walls.

If only there wasn’t a constant, looming threat of the Dream SMP hanging like a cumulonimbus above their helpless heads. Wilbur deeply hoped they had enough time to prepare for Dream’s next visit. He was sure the man would come back soon, likely to end Wilbur’s life, and he expected an army to follow him next time.

“You did a great job today, Will,” Niki propped herself up and sat next to Wilbur on the cobble.

No one had called him that since childhood, and somehow the nickname made him feel more at home. “Same goes to you.” He chuckled, awkwardly fixing his bushy brown hair.

“I’ve been waiting for somebody to revive this land, it was dreadful to live in eternal anarchy. It was like static, radio silence. We existed, but the world would’ve been the same without us. Maybe you’re the person to turn it all around.” Niki spoke in a gentle tone, soothing Wilbur’s internal battle.

“It’s Tommy you should praise, this was his idea.”

“But you were the one who went along with it, instead of mocking him and disregarding his thoughts because he’s a child. You spent an entire day creating a new base, that’s not a little thing. In the next week, we’ll have houses, a tent for medical purposes, and George will train us every day for the time we need to fight. This is the start of something truly wonderful.”

Wilbur turned to stare into her light blue eyes glistening with hope. “Is it?” He muttered.

“I believe so,” she responded with ease.

“Thank you,” he blinked, surprised at the kindness of her words. As skeptical as he was around people, the ones joining his side for L’Manberg somehow seemed so trustworthy – and he wasn’t sure whether he was being manipulated or if they truly stood for what they believed in. Despite the anxiety and pain draining each last breath of life from his wrecked body, Niki’s soft gaze filled him with a new emotion, a safety he hadn’t felt in so long. Pink, he decided, it was a pink feeling. Pastel-coloured and gentle like the first spring blossom.

He relaxed into the sensation and shifted closer, allowing Niki to rest her tired head on his shoulder.

 _She was right_ , he thought to himself as he gazed upon the people chattering under the cherry purple rays of evening sunshine, beneath the wall they had built with their bare hands. This was the start of something great.

“My L’Manberg,” he whispered under his breath.

A light breeze played with their hair and snuck under their slim layers of clothing, and it reminded them it was time to go back inside Tubbo’s house, to join the others. Niki shuddered from the sudden bout of cold, climbing down the wall in a few swift movements and letting the blueness of her dress dance in the mellow wind. She looked up towards Wilbur and awaited him to do the same.

He contemplated which position would hurt less, where to place his aching wrists, and how to avoid breathlessness. If his body was a medical diagram, there would be pulsating red spots drawn on his joints indicating their tenderness. But he couldn’t show his pain. So he gritted his teeth and jumped down, his unstable feet successfully meeting the ground. The impact made his bones scream, the noise contained behind his skin. “Let’s meet the others,” he told Niki and prayed to a non-existent god that she wouldn’t take him by the hand while it hurt this much.

Tommy spent his time productively teasing Fundy, while Tubbo attempted to befriend the freakishly tall, young boy called Ranboo. George stood behind the house, eating a piece of bread and butter and drowning in a feeling of not belonging. His heart was buried in the Dream SMP, not L’Manberg nor the Farmlands. Alas, he couldn’t go back, so his only option was to choose loyalty to Wilbur and the new city. Or being a lone wanderer, but that one did not sound as appealing.

“-so I hid behind the tree and jumped the monster right before it could kill Wilbur! It was such a fucking epic moment, and I was only ten years old. God, I’m awesome. Where would he be without me? Probably dead, to be honest,” Tommy was going on another one of his endless rants, a hyperbolic version of a story from their first night into the wild.

“Wow, that sounds so believable!” Fundy sarcastically replied in mock awe for the boy. “What else did you do?”

“I invented the word fork,” Tommy beamed. “Wilbur said it was stupid, but I said no, I said just you wait, it will get popular. And it did.”

“You’re a strange little child, you know that?” Fundy laughed.

“You’re just jealous,” the other shot back, all in good fun.

Wilbur and Niki joined the circle of new acquaintances, feeling as if they had known them for ages, and not less than twenty-four hours. He was offered buttered bread when Tubbo and Ranboo appeared from the back carrying a full plate. And he accepted a piece, even though every bite fueled his nauseated stomach.

His mind was lost within the blurred sounds of their conversation. A million voices swirled around his head, turning his brain into an overstimulated mush of sensory experiences. Every word they uttered stabbed him in the gut with its fierceness. Yet he smiled, laughed along, though wishing he could cover his ears and run away. “I’ll be right back,” he excused himself and pushed through the narrow circle of people to hide behind the house.

“Fuck,” he grumbled once he saw George leaning against the wall. “Can you leave?” Wilbur swallowed down the pain in his voice. His legs trembled beneath his stature, heavy like weights dragging him to the floor.

“You alright?” George noticed the waver in the other man’s step.

“Yes, just need to be alone for a minute. I promise.” He nodded.

“Alright, but… Are you sure they want me there?”

“Please, just go, yes, of course they want you- “

Wilbur clenched his fist around the hem of his sweater, and as soon as George was out of his sight, he knelt onto the soggy grass. Stifling the sound of his coughs, he dry-heaved until tears pooled in his eyes. Weakness overtook him completely. He brought his hand over his mouth, and wished he could throw up the pressure in his throat. Instead, it just burned, relentlessly pushing him to insanity. “Stop hurting,” he mumbled to his body. It wouldn’t listen. But he was a leader now. He couldn’t afford to be in pain, curled up on the ground waiting for assistance. If anybody saw him like this, he would lose all credibility as a powerful person, as the ‘mayor’ of L’Manberg.

The wind sent shivers down his back. He trembled in agony. Fatigue glued him to the ground, unable to take control over the movements of his sluggish legs. He punched his thighs, just to aggravate the dullness in his wrists. Once the pain in his chest subsided, he allowed himself a long exhale, staying in the grass for another few moments as nobody was looking for him. “Okay,” he whispered to himself, and grabbed onto the wooden wall to stand up in a careful motion. “I’m good. I’m good.” Wilbur repeated until he believed it.

“For L’Manberg!” He heard his friends shout in unison from the other end of the house.

It was at that moment he realized what kind of force he had created – a vision for a new nation, a faction great enough to defeat the Dream SMP and take the green-eyed tyrant down once and for all. The power was in his hands.

In his shaky, aching hands.

Was he ready for this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wilbur and niki will not be anything more than platonic. again, i do not ship real people, especially those that don't condone shipping them together! all of these relationships are filled with platonic love, and that connection is just as important as romance.  
> -sincerely, an aromantic


	9. How to Train A Brother

As days passed, L’Manberg brought more new members inside their cobblestone walls which grew higher with every hour of incessant building and hard work. Tommy helped Fundy gather material for the sight tower, and they managed to assemble it in less than a day. Wilbur and Niki built her a shed to sleep in, and a tent similar to the one he used to own in Logstedshire. This one was also, by Tommy’s demand, named Tent. She stored her medical equipment inside of it, accommodating herself to begin a new era of her previously dull life. Tubbo taught Ranboo about beekeeping. They became friends almost as fast as Tubbo did with Tommy, but Ranboo still wouldn’t look him in the eyes, saying it made him feel exposed and afraid. George made everybody an iron sword, keeping them at arm’s length yet still helping them train on a daily basis. By now, he had mentally stored assessments of his trainees – Wilbur was on the path to become a splendid fighter; Tommy had a lot of potential, but was smothered by his stubbornness; Niki and Fundy did exceptionally well; Tubbo tried his best, and Ranboo needed to practice a lot more.

The newest associates, Eret and Jack, had yet to accustom themselves to a new lifestyle. They arrived from the distant Manifold Lands, a village close to the west border with the Rapids, and accepted Wilbur’s offer to join them in the blink of an eye.

Just like everybody else, they believed this idea was the renaissance of the Farmlands.

All in all, the city was beginning to take on a formation, people assigned themselves specific roles and perfected their strongest areas of expertise. In the place where Tubbo’s yellow house stood alone for no one to visit, a society was created. The structures developed, and increased the city’s economic strength. Even though it carried that title, its citizens had a silent understanding that it was a lot more than a city. It seemed like it would soon absorb the entire faction. Wilbur was afraid of carrying a whole country on his shoulders, and to his fortune it hasn’t come to it just yet. Perhaps it never would.

Tommy felt proud of his spontaneous idea growing into something this big. He was proud of Wilbur as well, since this was the first time in a while that he had seen his older brother invest all his energy into a big project which gave him a sense of significance.

L’Manberg was built on Tommy’s belief in unity, its foundation lay in peace and mutual protection, but the impending risk of war was one step closer to their doorstep with each breath they took.

Eret proved himself to be a valuable member of the team. Once he had sewn everyone a new clothing item, Wilbur changed into a new uniform, one less dirtied with blood. Instead of wearing a thin, crimson covered yellow sweater, Wilbur put on a white shirt and threw his newly patched up, freshly washed trenchcoat over it. For the first time in his life, he felt classy and confident in the outfit he wore, and thought it represented his leadership well. A pair of black fingerless gloves matched his outfit, similar to the ones Dream owned.

Strutting with a lengthy iron sword in his grip, he observed the never-ending expansion of his great nation under the flag of his design. Yellow, black, blue, white and red was hoisted up on the tower top, the colours playing in the light wind. His L’Manberg.

Adrenaline surged through his veins and made him believe he could take Dream down any minute, in sickness or in health. But they had to be careful, he was aware. Tommy never stopped being his focal point of protection, despite everything they had built.

“Tommy, you’re doing it wrong,” Wilbur was attempting to show Tommy how to properly hold his sword, but to no avail. His sighs of exasperation meant nothing to the boy.

“No, you are stupid, and I am right.” Tommy pressed the tip of the weapon against his brother’s chest, gently as not to hurt him.

“Stop being a child and listen to me!” Wilbur cried out and threw his arms in the air. “Please!”

“You’re annoying,” the younger argued and stuck out his tongue.

“Fuck’s sake, Tommy, I’m going to kill you.” His brother shook his head and took deep breaths to compose himself. “Just do as I say.”

Tommy dropped his sword on the ground and crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side as Wilbur glared at him from above. “You’ve been a lot bossier since you became a leader.”

“It is kind of my job, you know.” The other man sighed. “How do you plan to destroy the Dream SMP if you don’t want to train to become the best swordsman in all of the factions?”

“I just want to do it my way.” Tommy frowned.

“Okay, fine, then duel me. You do it your way, I’ll do it mine.” Wilbur challenged the boy, picking up the sword from the ground and throwing it at him.

Tommy caught it in a swift manner, and made a point by stabbing the ground. “Let’s go.”

The two brothers took their battle stances on the clearing at quite the distance from Tubbo’s house, near a tallgrass prairie. Wilbur made firm eye contact with the boy and waited for him to prepare. “Timing. Distance. Reaction.” He repeated the words George had been drilling into their heads for the past five days. For the first time, he could call himself somewhat of a trained fighter, instead of relying on his self-taught knowledge picked up from the wilderness.

Without giving Wilbur a signal, Tommy dove straight into the fight, lunging forwards onto the taller man and clashing his blade against the other’s, the clang echoing through the fields. When Wilbur blocked the hit, Tommy made sure to press tightly onto his sword until it was painful for the other, taking note of his weaknesses and the way he stepped back to roll his wrist. He remained at a decent distance, enough to avoid a direct hit. The sounds of their increasing breathlessness and the collision of metal could be heard far across the land, until the only ringing in their ears was the rapid thump of their heartbeats along with the weapons. Wilbur was impressed with how long Tommy was able to resist his attacks when he wasn’t adhering to the traditional tactic. He transferred all of his weight onto the sword and threw swift strikes without a single pause in-between. Tommy blocked every single one. He danced right past the swings of Wilbur’s sword, feeling the rush of excitement give him endless power. The final blow was delivered by Wilbur, and it finally crashed Tommy onto the ground when he lost focus for a split second.

“Wow,” Wilbur was grasping onto every atom of air. His hands gripped his thighs as he bent over to hyperventilate, and Tommy sat up on the grass to brush off the dirt from his new red-and-white sweater. “That was good.”

“I told you I’m amazing,” Tommy took Wilbur’s hand and got off the ground. “My final move was too slow, though.”

“It’s okay, I tend to have the same problem. We’ll get some advice from George on it later. But for now – great session.” Wilbur pretended to tip an imaginary hat in Tommy’s honour.

“Never thought you’d be my teacher,” the younger commented as they walked back towards the base of L’Manberg. They went further away to practice than they had originally thought, and the plains seemed to serve as a great combat ground.

“And I never thought I’d be the ruler of a fucking city, holy shit.” Wilbur’s loud laugh resonated in their ears. “We were alone for two years, and if it wasn’t for my one bad decision, we wouldn’t have created any of this. I had to almost die and break down completely in order to raise our banners high from the depths of my demise.”

“I like seeing you passionate again.” Tommy said, a genuine smile plastered on his face.

“I’m just glad you feel safe in L’Manberg, and I hope I can protect you for as long as I live.”

“I can protect myself, though!” The younger complained, but deep-down Wilbur’s words almost pushed him to tears. It was remarkable, after everything they had gone through together, and considering the type of family they originated from, how their bond only grew closer with each day. Their brotherly love was what kept their blood circulating.

“We’re excellent fighters. All of us have potential – you, Niki, Fundy, Tubbo, Eret, even Ranboo despite his inelegance – but the Dream SMP warriors have trained for years. They have archers, cavalry, enchanted weapons and the best armour in our little part of the world. No matter what we do, we’re at a disadvantage. Dream alone could beat the two of us into the ground like mashed potatoes.” Wilbur flinched at the thought. “But we have something they could never say for themselves.”

“And what is that?” Tommy questioned.

“We have morality.”

Tommy glowed at the words. He prided himself on having the best morals in all of history, and to own a city founded on his beliefs? It was the wish he never knew he had. Maybe one day, he could be somebody’s hero after all. Not everything would be destroyed, and L’Manberg would live on forever past his death.

“You’re right,” he agreed with Wilbur. “We fight for each other, instead of reaching for power. Because power means nothing without the love we have within the walls.”

“Exactly,” Wilbur felt a glint of joy beam in his chest. It was an oddly new sensation.

The two continued to walk, a tranquil silence falling over their heads. Wilbur couldn’t remember the last time he felt so alive, connected to his senses. Each step he took on the ground was real, not mixed with a daydream or a nightmare, and he was no longer floating on a cloud. Even with the constant pain, he wasn’t detached. Every last bit of his former brain fog was replaced by sunshine, raining life from the bright blue expanse above L’Manberg.

“We only ever talk about the Farmlands and Dream SMP, but are there any other factions?” Tommy asked out of the blue.

“Well,” Wilbur took a moment to think, as it hadn’t been long since he familiarized himself with this world, very different from his old life. “George explained that there were four factions, each occupying a large portion of the southwest part of this continent. The Prime river divided them into east and west. Across the river to the east, we have the Dream SMP and the Farmlands, and on the other side live the Badlands in the northwest, and the Rapids in the southwest. Not all of them live in war. The Badlands are supposedly a fully pacifistic faction, while the Rapids sometimes get attacked by the Dream SMP.”

“That is… That’s a lot of information, holy shit.” Tommy focused hard to take it all in, interested in the different culture they had stumbled across by accident. From city kids to free warriors, their lives would never be the same.

“Truly,” the older nodded. “We’re the first ones to take charge of the Farmlands ever since the last ruler Schlatt died. I don’t know who he is, but Tubbo didn’t want to hear about him so I assume he wasn’t very good?”

“He sounds like a dick.”

“Perhaps, but I’d keep the insults on the down low. Who knows, maybe Schlatt was Tubbo’s father or something. I have an inkling, though I could be wrong.” Wilbur shrugged.

“So technically, we could own the entire faction? Since we’re the only leaders? I mean you, not me. Obviously.” Tommy got ahead of himself, always thinking he held an extension of Wilbur’s power.

“Yes, we could, but that’s a dangerous move.”

“Why?”

“Because then I’d be a fucking president or some shit, and I’m not ready to carry the burden of a nation. A city-state is enough, at least for now. It isn’t safe to expand until we are certain that we can handle the responsibility that comes with our exponential growth.”

“I don’t know what half of those words mean, but sounds rough,” Tommy cackled. “If I were you, I’d already own the whole four factions. But okay, go ahead and be a pussy then.”

“Tommy!” Wilbur scolded the younger.

“Just saying,” Tommy played innocent.

With the casual pace of their footsteps, it took them about half an hour to return home, seeing Tubbo’s renewed house beam from a distance alongside the newly formed stone tower stretching into the sun. They laid their eyes on the established L’Manberg colours swirling around the flagpole on the top, illuminated by the melted gold of afternoon sun. It felt like belonging.

Approaching the front of the house, they glanced around the front yard to get a grasp of what the rest were doing while they trained near the prairie. Tubbo was teaching Ranboo how to write, apparently, and the other was struggling to duplicate the words. The light-haired boy named Fundy was at work, as usual, never taking a break until every build in the area was polished to perfection. In his orange construction uniform, he made it his mission to renovate Tubbo’s old, scratched out birch door. He got a little help from Jack, although the new guy was more interested in talking than working.

Niki was helping Eret knit some socks and scarves, and they tried to get George involved as much as he refused to stoop so low. He didn’t feel like a true part of the community, no matter how many times they would tell him he was. In the end, they got him to knit one pair of blue socks in grumpy silence. Niki couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey, Will!” She greeted once she noticed him on the grounds of L’Manberg. “How was training?”

“Really good, Tommy has greatly improved.” He sat on a log she patted with her hand, wordlessly inviting him to join them.

“That’s wonderful to hear!” Niki beamed with pride at the younger boy’s accomplishments. She turned to look at him, but he had already run towards Tubbo and Ranboo, not caring much about what the adults had to say. As Wilbur sat next to her, she handed him two knitting needles and a chunky, yellow-coloured ball of yarn.

“Uh,” he stared at the items in his lap, and picked them up like a confused child as he looked up at Niki. “I’ve got no idea how to do this shit.”

She gave him an amused, soft smile and took the needles into her hands, not moving them from above his lap. He gazed straight down at her graceful fingers. With interest, he observed as she took a pinch of yarn and pinched it with both hands, bringing the string together to create a loop. The loop was handed to him, and he locked his gaze onto her every move. She pulled an unattached strand of yarn through the loop and tightened it until a tiny knot resided on Wilbur’s tender palms. “This is called a slipknot,” she explained. In a couple of more steps, she slid the needle into the loop on her thumb, but he lost focus midway and forgot everything she had done so far. Before he could blink, the new stitch was tightened to the needle. “Easy, isn’t it?” Niki met his relaxed gaze.

“Not quite,” he breathed out the words in a low tone, feeling her comforting presence warm against his side. Her eyes spoke with care, and she didn’t even need to say a thing.

“Alright,” Niki shrugged, unable to stop smiling. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

He nodded, leaning against her and silently watching as she began to create a yellow scarf out of what seemed like nothing. Her scent was invigorating, and the soothing shade of pink blossomed in his chest. “I’m sure I will,” he responded. His eyes drooped shut, the safety lulling him into microsleep, but he jolted upwards as soon as he realized that his consciousness was fading.

“You okay?” She asked with heavy concern oozing from the words.

“Just really, really tired,” he whispered, making sure Eret and George couldn’t hear. He wasn’t allowed to show exhaustion, otherwise they would lose faith, and then they would fail, and everything would fall apart, and the Dream SMP would take over-

“Will?” Niki’s voice snapped him from the anxious gaze he kept on a blank point in the distance.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m okay, please don’t worry.” The old scar across his face itched, always hidden behind a bandage so people wouldn’t notice its depth, and sometimes it still hurt if he scrunched his face a certain way.

“You should go to bed.” She insisted, taking him by the arm and pulling him upwards. He wanted to free himself from her grip, in order to protect his image in front of Eret and George, (as if George hadn’t seen him crying in the dirt), but the fatigue was overwhelming.

He followed her into Tubbo’s empty house, and she ushered him to the former guest bedroom, which was renewed by Fundy and expanded so it felt like a fully functioning office.

“Niki, I’m alright,” Wilbur insisted, but flopped onto the fresh bedsheets nonetheless.

“I have barely seen you eat, drink or sleep since I joined L’Manberg.” Niki stated, her tone serious. She didn’t care about Wilbur’s title of her leader, it wouldn’t stop her from taking care of him. In a way, it was her duty, and he insisted to make it a lot harder with the persistent repression of weariness.

He wriggled out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor, and slumped down onto the bed in his white shirt. His fingers fumbling with the buttons, he released the collar and gave his lungs room to breathe as well as they were able to.

She opened the closet and took out his yellow sweater. It was freshly washed, to his surprise. Clean clothes weren’t something he was used to, but he accepted the offer and pulled it over his head. “Why are you doing this?” He asked her, already sinking into the feathered pillow and disappearing in the dim candlelit room.

“I want you to be healthy,” she lay down next to him, and he curled up to rest his head against her chest. “I know we haven’t known each other for a long time, but I think you should know I care about you.” Her fingers played with the dark brown locks that framed his head. The repetitive motions eased his anxiety.

He let out a bitter laugh at her wish. Who knew when was the last time he had felt healthy? His body had been betraying him since he was a child. The list of symptoms just kept extending as time would pass, but it was something he adapted to, something he dealt with on a daily basis. “Oh, Niki,” he said somberly. “That’s not something you can influence.” The peaceful sound of her rhythmic heartbeat filled his ears. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the embrace, the most reassuring piece of human touch in his entire life.

The warmth and security he felt in her arms was crushing enough to bring tears to his eyes, his throat choking out a sob. In the absence of true friendship since primary school, she might have been his first actual friend, the first person he felt completely and utterly safe with. He had to protect Niki with his life, just like Tommy. And the thought only shattered his heart into even tinier fractures.

Outside his knowledge, Niki had been taking mental notes of every suspicious thing Wilbur did – disappearing behind the house at least once every night, refusing food, rubbing his wrists with his thumbs after every minor task, and the way his legs sluggishly moved, sometimes wavering from left to right as he wasn’t able to walk in a straight line. He always seemed exhausted, and dark circles graced his eyes. She knew he was sick, it was obvious. The question was, how to help him?

Perhaps letting him cry into her chest was a decent start.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” he cried through the words, “and I shouldn’t have let my guard down.”

“Why not?” She didn’t stop stroking his hair.

“Because I’m the leader, I’m the pillar of strength or whatever,” he mumbled in embarrassment.

“Your crying isn’t going to change anything, Will. If anything, it can show us a vulnerable side of you, and trust you even more because of how honest you are.”

“If I do that, everything falls apart,” he was all but hysterical, every last sob draining the remainder of his energy.

“Is it falling apart now?” She asked for him to ponder.

 _Maybe L’Manberg isn’t, but I am_ , he wished he could utter. _I have never been cared for, all I know is crime and punishment, and this entire community has given me a place in which I can feel safe. It’s my duty to protect it. If I fail, I lose everything. I disappoint everyone. And then my life has no meaning anymore._

“No,” he wept, holding her closer. “It’s not.”

“Everything is going to be okay.” Niki whispered, and it made his lungs tighten until he could no longer breathe.

“Don’t say that,” Wilbur pulled away from the embrace and wiped his tears, sitting up on the softness of the pillow. “I’m not used to this level of affection.”

She said nothing else.

He mentally slapped himself for pushing her away like that, but he knew deep down it was his father’s fault for fucking with his emotional regulation. That was one thing he didn’t blame himself for. Better than none.

“You know what, it’s getting late,” he muttered, awkwardly sniffling and hoping she’d take the hint to leave. It was too much for him, and the fact he let himself cry in front of a person he was supposed to lead wasn’t making him feel any better.

“Yes, you’re right.” Niki cleared her throat and got off the bed.

Wilbur turned towards the closet and pretended he was looking for something, just so he could avoid making eye contact and exacerbating the lingering uneasiness in the room.

She stood at the doorstep, about to leave, but waited for him to finish digging through the stack of new clothes. It was a bit humorous to watch him, with the knowledge that he was faking. Out of politeness, she didn’t make matters harder for him. Though, she did have plenty of material to go off. “Take care of yourself, Will,” she advised before disappearing from his bedroom once and for all.

He was alone again.

“From now on, no more tears.” Wilbur scolded himself. “I’ll write in my diary, that should be enough. The last thing I need is to burden my people with my problems.” He paced around, running his fingers through his hair and feeling Niki’s faint touch on the curls. It made his heart clench.

He was already drowning in exhaustion, but his story had just begun.

Finally allowing himself a bit of rest, he curled up to a pillow and breathed in the disappearing traces of Niki’s scent on his bedsheets.

She cared about him. Tubbo did, too. They trusted him enough to appoint him as their ruler, and this is how he paid back? By deteriorating into weakness?

Wilbur had no choice but to put an end to it.

His intuition told him something bad was coming, cooking up a storm, he expected Dream’s soldiers to appear at their doorstep any next minute. Niki could get hurt, he could lose his brother, and everybody he cared about was in constant danger. Dream had the power of destruction, he was able to burn L’Manberg to the ground.

Not on his watch.

Not on his fucking watch.


	10. Final Preparations

One day remaining.

Wilbur felt the storm rise in him, a tsunami of paranoia washing over his body. Something bad was going to happen tomorrow, and even though he knew it, he did not have a rational explanation of _why_ he knew it.

It was just a feeling, an instinctive dread telling him to prepare for the worst. A part of him believed he had already stepped one foot into the afterlife, but those intrusive thoughts were nothing but a problem, an obstacle in his way. He tried to replace them with more important matters, such as his new city.

L’Manberg was thriving. Its citizens were thrilled by how fast it grew, and how much they were able to accomplish in a short amount of time. However, its ruler was constantly on edge.

As much as he exuded confidence to build up spirit in his friends, he wept into his pillow when nobody was watching. The stress of leadership was messing with his head, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quell the burning ball of anxiety in his chest, pressing down onto his stomach and wrecking his organs until fear was all he felt. But he couldn’t show it. During the day, he spent every waking minute working, planning, strategizing, training, helping his people – because if everything wasn’t aligned to perfection, it would fail. During the night, he wrote like he was running out of time. His pen flew across papers in a minute, throwing up all his stress onto the pages as the acid from his stomach bit the edges of the notebook.

Sleep wasn’t on his schedule, and neither was food. The only times he ate were when Niki forced him to. She insisted on a ‘L’Manberg family breakfast’ each morning just so she could keep his fragile health under control.

But everything was going great!

On the bright side, Tommy helped Tubbo and Ranboo improve their swordsmanship, and the boys’ progress was obvious from miles away. The walls Fundy had been building rose to the limit of the sky, or at least it seemed so in their eyes, and the man kept constructing until every last inch of the city was fortified. New builds appeared from the ground. Eret and Jack now had homes, and George owned a blacksmith house where he spent hours producing the highest quality arsenal of iron axes, daggers, bows and arrows, and even one diamond sword he managed to enchant with the second level of sharpness. The sword was named Riptide and given to Wilbur as a gift for his remarkable leadership. Owning such a powerful piece of weaponry made him feel a little bit safer and more convinced in his ability to defend the city, and he could only thank George from the bottom of his heart for allowing him such a privilege.

Their archery skills were completely self-taught. George knew a couple of things about it, just enough to teach them how to hold a bow, but the rest was a team effort to learn. Wilbur and Tommy decided to stick to their swords. Niki, on the other hand, felt as if the bow came more naturally to her. She began to train herself, so she would be able to act as a protector from the top of their sight tower. That idea was dear to Wilbur, as it meant she could stay further away from the main source of danger.

No matter how confident they were, no matter how hard they practiced and for how long they worked, they all knew one thing. There was a chance they would not come out of the battle alive.

It was terrifying, to say the least.

When he was younger, Wilbur fantasized about dying. Those dreams were his favourite, in which he floated in an endless pool of soundless nothing - no thoughts, no body, no tears. But once he experienced the suffocating threat of death suck out every last breath from his lungs, he didn’t like the thought anymore. He was determined to survive, to get out unharmed, as his life had finally taken the shape of a purpose.

His past didn’t matter anymore. The thoughts of what his father had done to him as a child, the ones that used to plague his mind all the time; he pushed them to the back of his mind and replaced their neon glow with a vision for L’Manberg. It wasn’t just a project, it was a completely new chapter of his life. Whether he liked it not. He was no longer just a runaway teenage wanderer, chasing dreams through a forest and stealing food from random villagers that got in his way. The meaning of his existence stopped hanging on a thread. This was bigger than him, bigger than everybody, and it was his job to keep it running, prevent it from collapsing underneath his feet.

It was a new dawn.

“Everybody,” he called the citizens and they gathered around in the front yard at his command. “It has been almost a week since Dream was last here.”

Their hopeful eyes gazed upon him, except one pair that stared at the floor.

“What does this mean?” Tommy asked, afraid of the answer.

“The most likely outcome is that we can expect the Dream SMP to return tomorrow. Possibly to tear us a new one and destroy everything we’ve worked for. But we aren’t going to allow that to happen. We have labored harder than ever to build this whole city from scratch, and in only six days- six days!- we created something so much greater than their kingdom could ever become.”

“We have nothing to lose, we’ll defend L’Manberg with our last breath,” Eret added once Wilbur had finished his sentence.

The leader gave him a thankful nod and glanced back at the other equally enthusiastic lot of people. “Channel your inner warriors, protect your independence, and fight for what you believe in. I, for one, believe we will come out victorious.”

A wave of optimistic cheers drowned out the voices of fear in his head, but only for a split second. They had faith in him. That should have been comforting, but instead it led him to internal insanity, with only one thought on his mind – he could let them down.

Dream wasn’t the only one wearing a mask.

Wilbur smiled at his people, giving them reassurance, and began sharing every last detail of their conclusive defense plan in case of an attack. They listened attentively. He wanted to break down.

What if none of it succeeded? What if he wasn’t leading them to greatness, but pushing them towards inevitable demise?

“I have a question,” Jack raised his hand, and waited for Wilbur’s nod of approval to continue. “We’ve only been planning for victory, but what if we lose?”

“Well, we won’t, so you have nothing to worry about,” Wilbur snapped back, but realized it was an immature response right after the comment left his mouth. “But,” his voice softened as he added, “if it did happen, in a hypothetical scenario, the most important thing is to tend to each other’s wounds and hope there are no dead to count. L’Manberg is about the people, not the trivial label of a city. If we don’t work as a team and help each other until our last breaths, there is no point.”

“Thank you,” Jack answered, in awe at his leader’s encouraging speech. Wilbur motivated him to become better, and gave him something to fight for. He was eternally grateful.

“Now, let’s proceed with our final preparations.” Wilbur used all of his willpower to stay collected whenever he spoke.

The rest of his words turned into a blur in his mind as he assigned everyone a task for the day. He just wanted to sleep for a month without interruptions, but it was an impossible wish – instead of getting the much needed rest, he decided his task should be to help Tommy and Tubbo train with Ranboo, since it seemed like they needed a bit of assistance with the unusual boy.

After the session, he visited George in his blacksmith shed and tracked the progress of the weaponry. They were more than stacked, he was incredible. Having someone from the Dream SMP on their side was definitely an advantage.

Wilbur was just afraid that George’s heart would choose his true home when it came down to fighting against it.

“Hey,” he smiled and sat on a log in the man’s shed, more to hang out and less to observe the work. “How are you?”

“To be honest, I don’t care,” George shrugged, sharpening a newly produced blade. “I’m glad Tubbo doesn’t hate me anymore. We talked last night, and he forgave me.”

“That’s brilliant!” Wilbur clapped the palms of his hands together in excitement.

“Yeah.” The older gave a quick smile. “I’m just…”

“What is it?”

“Wilbur, you’re a fantastic leader. One who actually cares about the people, and wants the best for everybody. You’ve got the skills, the empathy, and you’re a respectable fighter. But I just-“ George could barely choke out the rest of the words. “I miss Dream.”

The deafening sound of silence filled the room.

After a minute of heavy contemplation, Wilbur dared to speak. “I understand.”

“You do?” George’s eyes glistened with surprise.

“Of course. He was your best friend, partner in crime. And just because he wronged you, it doesn’t mean every positive emotion for him will instantly disappear. But George, we need you. L’Manberg appreciates your gift, and we need you on our side.” He nearly pleaded. “If you were to change sides mid-battle, it could be fatal for us. Can you promise to me that you’re trustworthy?” His voice was soft, he didn’t want to intimidate the other into submission as there was no point in pushing it. Demanding George to prove his loyalty could only distance him, or so history had taught him.

“I promise,” George forced the words to get off his tongue.

“Thank you,” Wilbur placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am happy to hear it.”

Neither of them mentioned the sulfuric suspicion in the air filling their nostrils and burning inside of their heads.

While Wilbur visited each of the citizens and praised them for the work they had been doing, Tommy and Tubbo were taking a break. They didn’t ask for permission, and weren’t planning to – despite having a superior, they knew Wilbur would let them do absolutely anything as long as there was no danger involved.

The boys were building themselves an oak wood bench, a couple of meters away from Tubbo’s house to the south, so the placement provided them a view of the endlessly stretched plains, from L’Manberg to the faraway tallgrass prairies where Tommy and Wilbur trained. They hummed one of Fundy’s ‘builder tunes’ that he taught the kids to ease the difficulty of the work.

It was going to be their little station, just to talk and enjoy each other’s company.

Tommy hammered a couple of rusted nails into the wood and hoped it would hold their creation together, as Tubbo did the same on the other side. They didn’t want anybody to help them, because then it wouldn’t mean as much – it had to be Tubbo and Tommy, together against the world. Although it had been less than two weeks since they met, the boys knew they would be friends until death forced them apart.

When they were finished, they sat themselves on the bench, and felt freedom beneath their skin. For the first time in his life, Tommy could say with absolute certainty that he had a home. A place to keep him safe. And it would stay that way, as long as he had Tubbo by his side.

“Tommy,” Tubbo turned to look at the other boy as he uttered his name.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m happy. Like, properly, actually happy.”

“Me too,” Tommy smiled with honesty. “As long as you are happy, I am too. If anything happens to you tomorrow, I’ll gut Dream like a fucking fish.”

“Let’s just hope they won’t attack, eh?” Tubbo chuckled.

“Wilbur is right, I think they will. But we’ll be fine, alright? I’ll protect you.”

“Nah, don’t do that!” The brown-haired boy lightly slapped his shoulder, one of his overalls hanging down to his chest and exposing the juniper green shirt beneath.

“You’re so stupid,” Tommy rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. The chilly autumn breeze sent a sudden shiver up his shirt, and he pulled his hands inside the bright red sleeves of his new sweater.

“Are you scared at all?” Tubbo wondered.

The twelve-year-old took a moment to think, light blue eyes gazing up at the afternoon sky. “Hm,” he muttered. “Not really.” He waved his hand in dismissal.

“Must be nice,” Tubbo sighed.

“It sure is.”

Gazing at the golden vastness stretching towards infinity, Tommy and Tubbo let their bodies slump back into the bench and a special feeling of tranquility flood over the fearful thoughts in their heads. They embraced the rustling of wind, a faraway birdsong, and the content sound of their breathing – and it was peace of mind.

They were ready for whatever life would throw at them.

An hour of silent contemplation had passed, and they had lost themselves in the moment to the point of forgetting to talk. It didn’t matter, though, since feeling each other’s presence was enough.

The sound of soft footsteps through the grass appearing from the back put their lull to a halt. Tommy didn’t bother to turn around, but Tubbo obediently looked behind. “Oh, hi, Wilbur,” he smiled and it quickly morphed into a yawn.

“You two should get back home and eat something,” Wilbur said in a calm voice.

“Fuck off, idiot,” Tommy propped his knees up on the bench just so he could get in Wilbur’s face.

“Is that how you speak to your leader?” Wilbur smirked, crossing his arms. “Come on, Tommy, you haven’t since breakfast.”

“Shut up, you only had one fucking piece of bread in the morning so you have no right to speak to me about food.” The blond boy huffed and decided to take advantage of the situation by giving his brother an ultimatum. “If you eat, I’ll eat. A full meal, not just a bite.”

Wilbur’s neglected stomach growled in agreement, but his brain argued against it. He exhaled, tired of Tommy’s bullshit. “Fine.”

“Great! Let’s go, Tubbo.” Tommy gripped the other boy’s arm and pulled him off the bench.

It was not a point of image for Wilbur, avoiding food. He had no interest in changing his appearance, but the plaguing feeling of hunger made him feel in control of his nausea. If he ate, his stomach would hurt, and he’d feel like throwing up, which would lead to his entire body feeling drained, fatigued and consumed by a never-ending dull ache. It seemed counterintuitive to eat. This way, the sensation of emptiness chipping away at his insides was his choice, and in his own hands.

Finding himself at the candlelit dinner table where everyone was gathered ‘round, Wilbur picked apart the food on his plate like he was looking for something. The rest were too busy gulping down the delicious biscuits that Niki and Ranboo had prepared for them, which he appreciated as it allowed him to pretend.

After eating an ant’s breakfast worth of food, Wilbur waited for everybody to get lost in endless chatter so he could sneak out and process his pain in peace.

He knelt in the grass, just like every night, and let the nausea flood his system. He never threw up, although he wished he could. His body vibrated in discomfort. The soreness of his wrists and knees wasn’t helping.

“I knew I’d find you here,” a soft voice reached his ears from the back.

“Niki, go away.” He begged, not turning around and keeping a tightly locked gaze to his hands on his thighs. His voice cracked with every next word.

“What are you doing?” Her legs instinctively moved closer towards him despite his pleas.

His fingers intertwined in a swift motion once she sat down next to him. “Praying.” He muttered.

Niki blinked in disbelief. “I didn’t know you believed in a god.”

“I don’t, but a prayer doesn’t cost me anything.”

In a way, he wasn’t pretending. Even though he didn’t think there was a deity out there to guide him through the hardships, he prayed that tomorrow, everyone would survive. It didn’t matter whether he put his fate into the hands of God or the Universe.

The only important thing was that it gave him hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short chapter before the big fight :)


	11. Dawn of War

The sun had risen above the horizon, and it was time.

L’Manberg did not stand a chance, Dream thought to himself as he watched his battalion morph from a scatter into a perfect formation beneath his feet, enchanted weapons glowing underneath the morning rays of sunshine. The soldiers pierced the sky with the might of their blades. They feared no man, and not even the Universe could stand in their way – all they knew was determination, force, with one goal in mind.

Conquer and expand.

The day would come, when the sun would not set in Dream’s kingdom. He envisioned that day to arrive as soon as possible, and he was ready to visualize that fantasy.

He smirked to himself as he walked down from the podium and joined the fighters as the back leader. Sapnap stood in the front, waiting for the king to give the signal so he could lead them into the wild, impatiently twirling his sword in the palm of his right hand.

Once Dream raised his fist, it was go-time.

They began their path down the Capitoline hill into the vastness of their great nation, following Sapnap’s commands as they moved through the plains, every march of their combat boots on the ground causing the Earth to shake. Citizens greeted them with respect when they walked past their homes. Everybody praised their names. In the eyes of history, they were important figures, forever to be remembered for gifting the Dream SMP the wonderful contribution of war.

Sapnap ordered for the army to move west. They obeyed in an instant. Towards the dark oak forest, they moved with a certain kind of zest in their steps, aching to bathe in the souls of innocents for the sake of the kingdom. Treetops shook, birdsongs vanished, only the scent of power filled the air. As they came closer to the border, their heartbeats punched against their chests, adrenaline filling all of their senses. Dream felt the passion within his soldiers. Pride swelled in his cold heart. In just a few days, maybe less, the Farmlands would be theirs. Oh, the thought!

_The look on the faces of other faction leaders when they learn about the expansion!_

It was going to be something beautiful.

But not as beautiful as crossing out the Farmlands’ name on the map of the world once and for all.

Sapnap gestured for the soldiers to move in the well-known direction of Tubbo’s home, the first known sign of civilization in the north of the faction. However, instead of their gaze meeting the distant sight of Tubbo’s yellow cottage house, their eyes fell upon a cobblestone wall spreading far and wide, standing in their way.

This had to be Wilbur’s work, Dream thought. It had to be. That man was nothing but trouble, a deluded idiot who convinced himself he could oppose the strongest force in the world of the four factions. Dream was going to step on his neck and no sound would leave his throat ever again.

Amplifying his bloodthirst, Dream scoffed and moved with his soldiers until they stood in front of the giant wall.

An oak sign was plastered on the front.

‘WELCOME TO L’MANBERG (UNLESS YOU’RE DREAM THEN GO AWAY LOSER)’ the text said, obviously scribbled in a child’s handwriting. Sapnap couldn’t help but laugh.

“What do we do?” Sapnap turned around and shouted towards Dream. “Tear it down?”

“Sledgehammer that motherfucker,” the king replied.

A young man stepped out of the battalion, moving towards Sapnap as he took out the giant hammer from the leather satchel hanging off his shoulder. It was Callahan, the blacksmith, always equipping his superiors with any tool they required at any given moment. He handed him the hammer.

Sapnap’s fingers lifted it from Callahan’s palms and kept a tight grip on the handle. His focus was directed towards not wavering, as he had to show his power during this fleeting opportunity for leadership.

He started slow, swinging the sledgehammer above his head and down onto the cobblestone, the support of his arms and legs doing all the lifting for him. Without hesitation, he persisted in hitting the same spot again and again until eventually, a small fault line appeared on the surface of the wall. Fractures and pebbles rolled down the damaged barrier. Dust exploded from the stone and the sky turned to grey.

With his strength, it did not take long for an entrance to be formed, allowing them to finally step on the grounds of this new, unfamiliar masterpiece of _L’Manberg_.

Weapons up, they complied even without a vocalized command.

On the other side of the wall, a surprise awaited. It wasn’t even close to what Dream had imagined seeing, and he was utterly baffled at the progress and change that was brought to the Farmlands only a couple of days since his last visit to the faction. Once they noticed silhouettes of young, enemy soldiers forming a line to protect their homes, Dream moved through the crowd and pushed towards the front, standing next to Sapnap who still basked in the glory of his pseudo-control.

In a few delicate, but dangerous steps, he approached the leader of the opposition – the icy greenness of his eyes met a cunning, dark brown gaze. “Wilbur,” the name trickled down his tongue like acid.

“Dream,” the other responded, a pleasant smile on his face. As much as Wilbur attempted to hide the panic pooling in his stomach, Dream took note of the slight, nearly unnoticeable tremble in his demeanor. Wilbur couldn’t fool him. He could smell his fears. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Cannot say the same about you,” Dream sneered. “Listen, I’ll cut to the chase. Whatever this L’Manberg thing is, and whatever you are planning to do with it… It’s not going to last long.”

“Really?” Wilbur crossed his arms, an eyebrow quirking upwards. “And why is that?”

“This land belongs to me. And before you argue against it,” Dream raised his pointer finger once he saw Wilbur open his mouth to speak, “I am offering you friendly advice, from the heart. Surrender now, or lead your little friends to their deaths. Your choice.”

The leader of L’Manberg scoffed, glaring at the king with the deadliest gaze the Universe had given him. “We would rather die, than give into you and join your SMP.”

“Then I’ll make sure you die.” Dream countered.

His eyes subconsciously scanned the L’Manberg citizens for a specific face he had wished to see – or hadn't wished to see. When his exiled friend entered his view field, something wild and untamed filled Dream’s senses.

Before Wilbur could get any more words in, Dream raised his sword in the air. “Attack!” He shouted for the world to hear, the vibration of his voice making the ground beneath L’Manberg shiver in fear.

It was time to prove who was the real god of War.

At the highest velocity, the Dream SMP warriors began the assault. Power-hungry hands clashed the sharpness of their swords against the blades of L’Manberg. The suffocating scent of warfare had engulfed them. Tommy dodged hits with maniacal jumps. He threw himself at every soldier who even dared to approach Tubbo, slicing their skin before they could bat an eye. Tubbo and Ranboo fought side by side. Every hit delivered to the two, Tommy instantly avenged. Swift arrows punctured the air. Niki made sure to aim at Dream, but he was able to deflect each of her shots with ease. She hid inside the tower and only looked out to check if anything was happening to Wilbur. Her eyes fell upon his figure as he fended off an enemy soldier with an unfamiliar face, and she shot his opponent directly in the shoulder. The man fell to his knees, expecting immediate death, but Wilbur just left him lying on the ground. He spotted his brother being pushed against the wall as Tubbo hid behind him, and dashed through the opening to shield Tommy from a fatal hit at the last second, his enchanted diamonds ripping the other man’s uniform until red was all he saw. Tommy thanked Wilbur with a smile, but wasted no time getting back to business – Tubbo was a priority. Eret and Jack cried out for assistance once they were under attack from five SMP soldiers. In an eyeblink, Fundy jabbed his blade into the flesh of the enemy to save his friends’ lives. He was hurt in return, but ignored the blood seeping from his open wounds. His next mission was Tommy and Tubbo. The kids needed help. Tommy was nearing the end of his strengths, breathlessly defending his friends until he could barely stand. Ranboo was trying his best to help, but only made Tommy’s job harder.

“Run, Tubbo!” Tommy screamed as Callahan’s blade cut his side. He sobbed out in agony, never letting his grip go loose. Tubbo obeyed, pulling Ranboo by the arm and dragging him towards the sight tower, where Niki waited for them at the top with medical assistance, alongside a bow and arrows galore. Tommy kept fighting. He knew he couldn’t parry the hits forever, and the blood drenching his body was not a comfort in that thought. Where the hell was Wilbur? He needed his help more than anything right now. Instead, he got an injured Fundy on his side, faltering from blood loss. “Fundy, go- go to Niki!” He cried at the older man. Fundy gave him a hazy nod and ran to the tower, leaving Tommy to fight on his own again. The blond boy was hyperventilating. He felt as if his bones would crack underneath the weight of fear, but the enemy boy seemed to have no plans to retreat. Tommy began to see double. He wavered in his step and, as he was about to deliver a blow, tumbled backwards onto the ground. In that moment, all he knew was darkness.

Tubbo and Niki saw it happen from the tower. They wasted no time as they sprinted down to lift up his body from the grass drenched in crimson. They hid him inside and frantically pressed bandages against his side to stop him from bleeding out. Tubbo felt apprehension smother his throat. “He’s going to live,” Niki breathed out, noticing it in his eyes. The boy gulped.

On the other end of the battlefield, Wilbur caught heavy breaths to defend himself from the most powerful force of evil – Dream. The two had proven to be near equal fighters. Wilbur thought he would have already been defeated by this point, but he stood strong and deflected whatever Dream tried to throw at him. Unlike Dream, he wasn’t trying to hurt the other. His goal was to survive.

“You’re not going to win this fight, Wilbur,” Dream challenged him, the sound of their weapons colliding and adding to the fire.

“I chased you off my land once, and I’ll fucking do it again,” Wilbur rasped. He swiftly dodged a hit aimed for his chest, and spun on his heels to block the other’s sword.

“I’m not even trying, and you’re already breathless!” The king laughed menacingly. “Wilbur, I’m using half of my power, just give up already!”

“You’re lying,” Wilbur managed to corner him, Dream’s back meeting the cold cobblestone as Wilbur held his sapphire sword against his throat. A glint of power hid behind his firm gaze.

Dream’s breaths calmed, and he looked at Wilbur with a sly chuckle. “Are you sure?” He grinned. In a split second, the roles were reversed – Wilbur’s fragile spine crashed against the wall as Dream twisted out of his grip and pressed the dull edge of his blade into his neck to cut off his airflow.

Wilbur gasped, disgusted by Dream’s manipulative power play. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach for the oxygen he desperately needed. He choked out a noise of complaint, but Dream didn’t seem to care about his silent beg for release. Wilbur grabbed Dream by the arm and began pushing him away with all the remaining force in his body. Dream prevented him from fighting back and kicked every last atom of air out of his lungs. When Wilbur was losing balance, Dream shoved his knee into the man’s stomach and watched him fall at his feet.

“You,” Wilbur could barely hear himself over the ringing in his ears. His body was disintegrating into the ground, and he lost sensation in his limbs not long after he ended up face down in the grass. His hoarse heaving was a delight for Dream. He couldn’t breathe, or swallow, and all he could do was lie paralyzed waiting for Dream to finally stab him to death. A part of him didn’t want to give up, though. If only his brain and his body would have cooperated for once.

“I could kill you right now,” Dream knelt down to look into Wilbur’s hazy eyes. “I could, but I won’t.” He mused.

“Why- why not,” the other coughed out, a few drops of blood leaving his throat.

“It’s more fun this way.”

Those words delivered a blow to Wilbur’s chest greater than any physical impact. He wasn’t just leading his friends into a defensive battle to preserve their territory, no, he was fighting a fucking sadist. Dream wasn’t power-starved, he wanted to inflict pain on people, watch them helplessly suffer while he laughed. He needed control, and that was how he received it. And now L’Manberg was going to pay for Wilbur’s impulsivity, his recklessness and idealistic ambitions which stretched far beyond any realistic outcome. He could have simply left Logstedshire, and never see Dream again. But he had to challenge him. Attempt to match his strengths. And in the process, he forgot his roots – he was just a homeless runaway, not a soldier, not a leader. Unimportant.

His heart clenched, and he couldn’t feel it within his numb ribs. He tried to focus. His vision began to fade despite his inner voice pleading for it to return. A foggy blur encapsulated him into a cloud of nothingness. Detachment overtook. Nothing was real.

“You’re coming with me,” Wilbur felt Dream’s acidic tone spill over his demolished body. His sore wrists were being held up, and a metal clack signaled to his brain that he was being chained. He had zero strength to react.

“No, he’s not.”

An unexpected new voice reached his ears.

He knew it from somewhere, but he couldn’t remember it clearly. In the back of his mind, this voice was familiar. It brought back an uncertain feeling of sadness. Who was this man? If only he could see, if only his eyelids wouldn’t give up on him, so he could look up and remember…

“Who the fuck are you?” Dream spat towards the newcomer.

The man had obnoxiously long, watermelon pink hair reaching down to the small of his back, a few lighter-coloured locks falling over his eyes. His smaller frame was hidden behind a puffy navy blue winter coat, and a white dress shirt. A polished ruby sword gracefully fit between his fingers. He advanced towards Dream with no fear. No hesitation.

“It doesn’t matter, because you won’t remember once I’m done with you.” The man eyed the ground to avoid stepping on Wilbur’s lifeless body, and soon enough found himself face to face with Dream.

“Try me.” Dream dared.

The rivals sized each other up.

Even though Dream had no clue who Wilbur’s protector was, he didn’t look intimidating. He could definitely take him down.

The pink-haired man thrust his sword in a quick motion and sliced Dream’s forearm as the other raised it up to block the other from injuring his shoulder. Dream jumped back in surprise. He glided his blade against his opponent’s, ignoring the hissing pain erupting from his wound. The stranger moved the point of his blade around Dream’s. He gained a new target, aiming for his open right shoulder. Dream attempted to beat his blade, but the other slipped under him and delivered a razor-sharp slash across his face. The blond man failed to block the next hit – the next thing he knew, he was on the ground beneath the other man’s heavy boot. “Say goodbye to this plane of existence,” the mysterious man chuckled at his panting challenger. This was an effortless fight.

“Wait!”

In the corner of his eye, Dream spotted his old friend, now enemy – George. Where was he this entire battle?

Dream’s opponent whipped his head around to look at the man sprinting towards them.

“Don’t kill him!” The brunet shouted.

“George,” Dream breathed roughly on the ground, and a smile appeared on his face despite the pain he was in. “I knew you’d come around.”

“No, no, no,” George repeated, shaking his head and inhaling deeply with each pause. “Just- just don’t kill him!” He begged the pink-haired man.

“I’ll leave him alone if he promises to get off this land and tell his men to retreat.”

“Dream, listen to him! Fucking retreat!” George nearly screamed in hysteria as infinite waterfalls of tears ran down his cheeks. He knew he was betraying Wilbur, but he couldn’t allow his old friend to die like this.

The two stared at the wounded king and impatiently waited for his response. “So?” Wilbur’s nameless protector asked.

“Okay,” Dream coughed out. “Okay. We retreat.”

He was released from the other man’s grip at those words, and George ran up to him in an instant to help him stand. His emotions were more than conflicted. None of it mattered at the moment, though, because Dream was alive. They were all alive.

George dearly hoped Wilbur would be okay as well.

“Retreat!” Dream yelled into the warzone-filled clearing that had taken over the city.

It took less than five seconds for the SMP soldiers to release the exhausted L’Manberg warriors, leaving them behind in the dust and blood-filled dirt into which they turned their newborn city. They were barely injured, while the people of L’Manberg required urgent medical attention (and Niki had been providing it the entire fight as much as she could.)

Dream limped over to his people, and turned around to see if George would follow.

The other stood in the middle of the field, between L’Manberg and the Dream SMP. His heart was torn between sides, but he knew he couldn’t live that way.

“George, are you coming?” He asked. Dream hoped that the retreat could at least bring his friend home, if they had already been unsuccessful at expanding their land. But why would he want George back? He was just as confused.

“I don’t know,” George sobbed. “I don’t know what to do.”

The pink-haired man, coming out of the duel victorious, walked towards George and pointed his sword towards the tired crowd of Dream SMP soldiers. “Go with them,” he gestured. “Wilbur’s unconscious body is lying handcuffed on the floor, and you’re crying for another nation’s leader.” He shouted for the entire field to hear him. “Just go already!”

A dead silence rose above the city. Everyone’s eyes turned towards the unrecognizable figure, the best fighter they had ever seen. Only Wilbur and Tommy weren’t well enough to witness it – one lying in Niki’s medical tent, and the other still untended to – but everybody else saw the duel. They had never seen anything like it before.

George gazed at Dream, almost asking for permission to join him without a word being spoken. The other nodded, but George couldn’t decipher the emotions behind his eyes. He just knew that neither of them was pleased with which direction the fight had taken.

With a cloud of shame lingering above his head, George stood by Dream’s side.

He was a traitor to everybody.

* * *

Wilbur woke up with a sharp pain stabbing through his chest. Unable to breathe, he jolted up in bed and pressed his throbbing fingers into his ribs as he coughed in agony. Light from the window hit his eyes, and it hurt like a bitch. A headache exploded his brain into a million pieces. When he looked around, he found blood on his bedsheets. Everything stung. Nothing made sense, he couldn’t recall half the battle. The last thing he remembered was an unpleasant voice trying to protect him, but he was already unconscious before he could process it.

Whoever that was, they saved him from imprisonment.

“You’re alive, thank god,” Niki appeared at the doorstep of his bedroom, hearing him awaken. “I was so worried that I couldn’t save you.”

“Niki,” Wilbur lay back into the softness of his pillows, half-lidded and ill. “Are you okay?”

“I wasn’t harmed at all. Everything was fine. We won, Will, they retreated!” She sat right next to him.

“What?” He muttered in bewilderment, more than convinced they had lost the fight. In the moments he thought were his final ones, he had lost all hope for himself and L’Manberg.

“It’s a miracle, we were saved by this mysterious man with pink hair. He still hasn’t told us his name, but he said you and Tommy would know him once you both wake up.”

It was too much information for Wilbur – winning, miracles, mystery person, pink hair, and wait - Tommy was unconscious? Words spun around his concussed head like stars.

“Is Tommy okay?” He grabbed the most important thought that attempted to run away.

“He lost a lot of blood, but he’s alright,” Niki soothed him, running her gentle fingers over his freshly bandaged wounds. “He fought bravely. He pushed himself over the limits to protect Tubbo.”

“Niki, I fucked up so hard,” Wilbur shut his eyes tight to avoid seeing her face. He couldn’t stand himself, the self-loathing stronger than ever before. “You could have all died because of me. Tommy is hurt because of me. This- this was a horrible idea.” A few tears slipped from his eyes, and he tried to lift up his hands to wipe them off his face. His wrists wouldn’t move. Niki used the sleeve of her sweater to remove the tears. It only made them flow harder. “I’m sorry for everything.” He sniffled, a whimper escaping his lips.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Will.” She whispered and cuddled up to his side, carefully to avoid putting pressure on his injuries. “L’Manberg won and no one died, that’s what’s important.”

“Yeah,” he cried, “you’re right.”

“Would you like to meet the person who saved your life? He says he needs to speak to you.”

“Of course, I need to thank him,” Wilbur gave her a sad nod. L’Manberg’s victory should have brought him relief, but its entire existence filled him with a sense of guilt instead. “Please.”

Niki shuffled off the bed, and before she disappeared into the living room, ran her hand through his hair just once. For comfort. He embraced the feeling deep inside his bones.

 _Count your breaths_ , his inner voice told him. Breathing was so difficult.

How could he have ever thought to go against Dream? How, why, was he that fucking stupid? Forming a city-state, very clever. Grouping farmers and non-fighters and sending them to war against a trained kingdom led by a psychopathic tyrant. That wasn’t something on his bucket list when he first abandoned home. If the mystery man hadn’t come out of thin air to save them, Wilbur would have ended up a hostage. Dream would have tortured him for his personal amusement. Luckily, he was safe in the heart of L’Manberg.

“Wilbur.” The voice appeared again, but this time he was awake to witness the man behind it. Wilbur forced his drooping eyelids to stay up, and averted his eyes towards the sound of heavy footsteps at his door.

It took him a moment to analyze the person. His face was overly familiar, like a hazy memory. But the pink hair wasn’t in the memory. The piercing blue eyes in front of him were connected to a blond boy from his life. He blinked a few times, overworking his mind to remember, hearing the cogs in his fuzzy brain spin a thousand miles per hour as their metal pieces banged against his eardrums.

And once he realized who it was, he froze in shock.

“Techno?”


	12. Adventures of Techno

“Techno?”

This wasn’t real. In which Universe was Wilbur’s older brother standing at his doorstep, entering his bedroom – how did he get to L’Manberg? And why? The confusion was overwhelming.

Wilbur stared, perplexed, and forced himself to sit up on the bed despite the agonizing pain putting a heavy weight on even the smallest movements on his body. He lifted a fragile wrist and brought his hand to his chest, pressing down on it to prevent the dull ache from sharpening.

He did not want to see Techno. The last time he was in his presence, it wasn’t pleasant. He was a selfish bastard in Wilbur’s eyes, a manipulative son of a bitch who never looked after him even when he needed it the most. Techno had always agreed with Phil and observed from the sidelines as Wilbur got disciplined for things he hadn’t done, not once helping him even when he could have easily done it.

When Wilbur had gotten locked out of the house in the rain, Techno refused to let him inside. And when he fell ill with the seasonal flu every goddamn winter, Techno would ignore his pleas for help. He insulted and degraded him, made him feel lesser than a human being, and left him to succumb to years of emotional abuse that Techno had never gone through himself.

So how could Wilbur ever trust Techno?

Yet he protected him from Dream in the fight, and saved him from possible torture and imprisonment, which was completely out of character for the older sibling.

Techno seemed different.

He exuded a confidence of the wilderness, and radiated the aura of a great warrior. His hair was no longer short and blond, the way Wilbur had remembered it, and instead of wearing baggy sweatpants and graphic t-shirts, he was dressed in almost royal attire. The glasses were gone, too, exposing the chilly blueness of his eyes.

“Good to see you awake,” Techno spoke, his voice low and hoarse but it carried a degree of unexpected gentleness.

“Techno, what the actual fuck?” Wilbur wanted to shout. He was too exhausted, so it came out as a feeble string of desperation. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was planning to take a walk, but I ran into you dying so I jumped in and saved your life real quick.” The older brother shrugged as if it was so simple, causing Wilbur’s aggravation to implode inside his lungs.

“What- this- just explain yourself!” His pitch moved up an octave, and he jolted up to aggressively gesticulate with his aching hands, but a severe bout of pain made him grit his teeth and fall back down on the bed. His forehead was dripping sweat, entire body trembling, and he instinctively hid further under the covers. He could feel his clothes sticking to his skin. It brought back the itch inside his brain. Nauseated and flashing between hot and cold, Wilbur leaned his head over the bed thinking he was going to throw up from how the room was spinning. Instead, he spent a couple of moments dry-heaving through shivers and tears.

Techno sat next to him, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Wilbur swatted it away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarled.

“Alright,” Techno understood. “Tell me if you require my services.” He said in a lighthearted tone, even though he knew Wilbur would rather die than admit needing help. Especially from him.

“What makes you think I want you around?” Wilbur asked once the pain had calmed down.

“Look, I know we’ve had our differences, but- “

“Differences, you say?” Wilbur laughed, acidic enough to dissolve his words into a cough. “Hey, remember the night before Tommy and I ran off? Do you fucking remember it? Because I sure do! I can picture it clearly in my head, the way you watched with satisfaction while _Phil-_ “ he cut himself off, inhaling and closing his eyes for a second to chase away the memory. “You know what he did.”

“I wasn’t happy about what dad did to you either, but it wasn’t like I could’ve told him to stop. What did you want me to do, say _hey dad, could you like, not hit my brother or something? Okay cool, thanks.”_ Techno rolled his eyes, lightly shaking his head.

“God, you’re such a selfish prick, you haven’t changed at all,” the younger gazed into the distant nothingness.

“You’re being a bit ungrateful, considering you should’ve been dead or imprisoned if I hadn’t found you last minute.”

“I get it, you helped me once, but that doesn’t excuse the sixteen years of torment,” Wilbur refused to look him in the eyes.

“I know.” Techno sighed. “I’m truly sorry about it. If you let me back into your life, I will try my hardest to do better and never leave you in the dark.”

Wilbur pulled the warm covers over his shoulders, a hiss escaping his mouth from the cold. He tried to repress the fact that Techno had never apologized to him up to this moment. A part of him thought he changed, but only for a second. He wasn’t just going to forgive someone he hated for so long. “Why would I need you in my life? I’m doing fine without you.”

The older pursed his lips into a tiny smile. “Are you? Are you really, Wilbur? Because you’re all bruised from fighting and you seem sicker than an old guy with tuberculosis.”

“And? Tell me how that is any of your business.”

“Please, for once in your damn life, stop being stubborn,” Techno ran his hands over his face in exasperation. “Wilbur, you don’t even know how much crap I had to go through to find you. I’ve been looking for you ever since you and Tommy had abandoned us. I’ve travelled far and wide across the continent and done so many things, met so many people... And you probably don’t even believe me!”

Wilbur shifted away from Techno to create an artificial distance, wishing he could just leave the room and not be involuntarily glued to the bed. It took him a while to think of something to say. There were too many thoughts to know where to start. So much he wanted to know, and so little he could utter.

“If you,” he began, eyes still locked to his hands and avoiding Techno’s gaze. “If you cared so much after we left, why did you always treat us so poorly?”

“Because dad made me believe I should hate you or something. I’m not really sure why, but he did.” Techno let out a lengthy exhale.

“I don’t know either.” Wilbur curled up and rested his chin on his knees, golden-brown curls falling over his face. The position hurt his chest, but he couldn’t force himself to care. “I’m honestly very confused about everything, I don’t know what I should feel.”

“That’s reasonable,” the older nodded. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, you shouldn’t feel forced into it.”

“I wasn’t going to forgive you.”

_But Tubbo forgave George for a much worse deed. Why am I not able to do the same?_

Another wave of awkward silence drowned out their thoughts with its intensity, filling Techno’s lungs with suffocating guilt. He only wanted the best for Wilbur, despite the past. To him, the past did not exist anymore. The person he used to be, the person who treated Wilbur like shit, did not exist anymore. However, he knew that not everybody saw the world in the same light as him. People clung to bad memories, their trauma plagued them for the remainder of their lives, and Wilbur was one of those people. To Techno, it seemed so illogical.

Wordlessly, he shoved his hand into one of his fluffy pockets and pulled out a box. It was only a couple of inches in height and width, and nicely decorated with red wrapping paper. He noticed Wilbur eyeing the object out of the corner of his eye. “I, um, I got you a little gift.” Techno muttered, placing the tiny box on the bed.

“I ‘ont want it,” Wilbur mumbled with his face in his knees.

“Aren’t you at least a little bit curious about what it is?” Techno lifted the box and shook it just slightly as it rattled.

The younger was apprehensive, but his curiosity always got the best of him. With a heavy sigh and an icy glare in his gaze, he snatched the box from Techno’s hand and kept his lips pursed so the other wouldn’t think he really wanted to see what’s inside.

Techno smirked with amusement.

Wilbur took his time unwrapping the box. It hurt his fingers to tear off the paper, and each scrape of his nails against the item sent tingles through his fingertips. Techno noticed his struggling, but did not dare to assist. He didn’t feel like being pushed away again.

“What is this?” Once the box was opened, Wilbur observed it with interest. It was a piece of gold, a circular object glowing just like his sword did after George had used a sharpness spell on it. Text was engraved around the corners in the tiniest possible font. He squinted and brought it close to his eyes to read it, but the glow burned him to tears. “What does it say?”

 _“No death, not today_.” Techno replied. “It’s a totem of undying.”

“A what of who where?” Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The older chuckled and couldn’t help but smile. “A totem. You can use it as you’re about to die and it gives you another chance at life. It’s enchanted with the unbreakable spell of undying. These are extremely hard to find, so you better like it, alright?”

“Do I have to use it on myself?”

“Nah, but most people do.” Techno shrugged his shoulders. “I never had to use one though, because my combat skills are impeccable.”

“This is quite incredible, Techno, how do you just give it away like it’s a fucking piece of bread? Even bread is a privilege, and this…? I have no words.” Wilbur couldn’t divert his gaze from the glowing item lying in the palms of his hands.

“Eh, I got it from a woodland temple in the Badlands. They weren’t happy about it, but I kind of gave them a bunch of diamonds and ancient debris to shut them up. I’m kind of a rich guy, you know.”

Wilbur’s sense of inferiority cast a shadow over his face. “I see.” He felt more incompetent than before, knowing that Techno had become successful in the wilderness while he and Tommy spent ages fighting for every last piece of food, only achieving materialistic stability after the formation of L’Manberg. If they had remained alone, Wilbur wouldn’t have gotten a diamond sword, or new clothes. And they would have never experienced the pleasure of freshly baked biscuits and a warm drink. Or a comfortable bed, and warmth amidst the winter winds.

And Techno owned a force against death itself.

The pink-haired man let Wilbur process all the information dumped on him in a matter of minutes. He had been trying his absolute hardest not to upset his younger brother, knowing how easily Wilbur’s emotions controlled him sometimes – and also knowing how shit he was at expressing compassion.

The urge to forgive chipped away at Wilbur’s patience. Although he was hurt for years, this new face of Techno had begun to alter his opinion about the man. For the first time, he was nice. Listened to him. Maybe even understood, or at least tried to.

He put the golden glow back into its box and placed it aside. “Thank you for this,” he murmured under his breath. “And, uh, thanks for saving my life. I guess.”

“No problem, next time as well.” Techno pushed his shoulder against Wilbur’s, causing the younger to flinch away.

“Techno, how do you know all of this? I mean, about the factions, and the people, and the totems… What the hell have you been doing for the past two years?”

Techno thought to himself.

_It’s been a week since his siblings went missing. He counts every day with a charcoal line on the wall of his bedroom. They can’t be gone forever, can they?_

_But October arrives, days go by – still no trace of Wilbur and Tommy. Techno begins to ponder. Of course they left, when dad treated them like absolute shit. It’s supposed to be Wilbur’s unofficial birthday, the one on his birth papers. Techno wants to celebrate, even if Wilbur isn’t here. He does it in secret, by setting sixteen candles ablaze in the basement, where Wilbur used to spend a lot of time locked away._

_Techno realizes that dad wasn’t the only thing that made them leave._

_He kind of misses them, honestly. It’s a lot quieter in the house. Dad is always working, and Techno plays with fire and crafts weapons._

_Two months have passed. The fourteenth of November. Techno is sick of waiting. It was more than obvious they are not coming back – so he will be the one to find them. The only problem? They could be anywhere in the whole world. He knows Wilbur likes to wander, and values freedom more than anything._

_He packs his things and says goodbye to his father. Phil shouts, calls him an idiot, shows no remorse for his missing sons. Techno shrugs and leaves. He wants his family back._

_The autumn is cold, but he heads north. His compass breaks, so he isn’t quite sure which direction to take next. There are mountains in the distance, looming behind a perpetual curtain of snow, and he decides to explore the tundra despite how intimidating it seems._

_A few villagers offer him a place to stay, and Techno refuses – he wants to build his own base. But he trades with them, a piece of food for all the wood he has collected for heat. He will have to freeze until he cuts down some more spruce. Food is a priority._

_Soon enough, he makes himself a comfortable place to stay, and tames a snow-white horse from the village to assist him in his journey._

_He waits for a warmer day to continue. Once it arrives, he heads towards the closest inkling of civilization._

_The people he meets along the way are interesting. Their territory flourishes with all different kinds of ores, and he mines everything he sees. Of course, they aren’t satisfied. Their dissatisfaction grows stronger when he finds a totem of undying in their woodland mansion – but he offers them all his materials for the totem, and they cannot help but accept the offer._

_He decides to give it to Wilbur, since Techno will most definitely not need it._

_Stumbling across the leader of the territory, he learns that this place is called the Badlands. Very egotistical, he thinks, as their ruler’s name is Bad. He asks him about this part of the world, and Bad sells him a history book in exchange for a diamond sword._

_Techno spends the night reading it. He learns about the four factions – Badlands, Rapids, Farmlands, and the Dream SMP. Luckily for him, there’s a dusty map hidden within the pages, and he uses it to travel farther into the unknown. He sticks to the Rapids and the Badlands, seeing as their territories are the most peaceful, and the Prime river stood in his way to meet the Farmlands and the Dream SMP._

_In the River Rapids, he meets a mysterious man named Karl, who tells him stories from the past. He knows everything about it, apparently, and claims he has been there for it all. As they talk, Karl makes him a navy-blue winter coat, as Techno tells him he lives in the north._

_Karl leaves him with a warning – to stay away from the Dream SMP._

_He also tells him that the Farmlands have lived in anarchy for a while now, since their last president Schlatt lost his life to a terminal illness. Techno considers himself an anarchist, and has since he was a child._

_Maybe crossing the river is worth it to get to the Farmlands._

_A few days later, after organizing all his newfound information and materials at his new house, he follows the map and heads south, following Karl’s advice to avoid the Dream SMP. He finds himself walking through Badlands and Rapids territory again, but no one stands in his way. Even the people he meets are kind to him, never forgetting how much he has mined for them in exchange for the totem._

_He explores the Farmlands for days, starting at the south and making it his mission to reach the utmost northern part in less than a week._

_How long has it been? He lost track. No sign of his brothers, no matter where he goes and who he asks._

_He fights so many monsters in the night, and always walks away without a scrape. His combat skills are amazing. Fortune follows him everywhere he goes due to his talent for fighting, but he doesn’t care about that. He just wants his family back._

_The Farmlands are lovely, a golden expanse disappearing into the horizon. They live in peace, their territory without a ruler. Techno likes it here. He misses his home back in the tundra, though, as he has grown to like it over the who-knows-how-many months._

_A sunny morning rises above the land, and Techno wants to take a peaceful walk. He brings a weapon just in case. He strolls through the tallgrass, through the plains, and admires the world beneath his feet. It could be his, if he wanted it to be. That’s the beauty of anarchy. No ruler dictates ownership, there is just... Freedom._

_Techno understands why Wilbur and Tommy had abandoned their primary home. Without their dad, the world was peace. Although Techno had a good life with Phil, he wouldn’t give away this level of independence for a sense of security._

_In the distance, he hears shouting. Someone wails, and a scream of pain echoes through the plains just to reach his ears. It sounds familiar. He thinks he’s going insane. There is no way it’s Wilbur._

_He follows the noises. They lead him to a cobblestone wall, and he doesn’t want to destroy the fortification – so he skillfully climbs over it._

_The closer the sounds become, the more he realizes he is amidst a battle. This has to be a defensive city of sorts. The colours of the flag seem so..._

_Wilbur designed this flag as a child._

_Techno sneaks around a bit, not wishing to be spotted by a whole army that could potentially be dangerous._

_His eyes lock to a figure in the near – Wilbur is forced back against the wall, as a soldier dressed in green hurts him until he falls to the ground. He runs up to help, but his brother is already nearing unconsciousness. What if he is too late? What if Wilbur dies before Techno gets to apologize for everything? And where the hell is Tommy?_

_He recognizes the face of the soldier attacking Wilbur. He has seen it before, in Karl’s history books._

_Wilbur is fucked if Techno doesn’t save him._

_“You’re coming with me,” the man in green says and tightens a pair of handcuffs around Wilbur’s wrists. Wilbur isn’t fighting back._

_“No, he’s not.”_

A minute of silence filled the room.

Wilbur waited for Techno’s response, noticing how the man kept eyeing the ceiling as he pondered.

“So?” The younger asked after enough time had passed. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh,” Techno jolted, Wilbur’s voice interrupting the memories flashing in front of his face. “What did you say?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I asked, what have you been doing the past two years?!” Wilbur grows impatient.

“Oh, you know, just wandering about.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup.”


	13. Red and Green

Everything was burning.

The pungent scent of gasoline filled Tommy's throat and suffocated him until there was nothing left to breathe, and he struggled to find oxygen in the darkness of this unfamiliar room. Golden flames scorched his insides. He wasn’t able to move, and he couldn’t close his eyes. A guttural shriek left his body, perhaps a plea towards the skies to extinguish the fire. Nobody answered. The flames kept growing, and agony swallowed him. His own ashes tasted bitter on his tongue as he disappeared into the wildfire.

Pain was everything he felt, and no scream could help.

His eyes were glued to the glowing shadows moving across the walls, feeling shivers down his spine every time the creatures grazed his skin. Their touch was icy, in contrast to the fire, and he tried his hardest to fight against the hot and cold flashes – to no avail.

_ “Tommy? Tommy, wake up, you’re having a nightmare! Tommy!” _

The voice was distorted through the debilitating sensations wracking his body, mixing with the crackling noise of fire blazing inside of his bones.

He wanted to respond to it, he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat wouldn’t cooperate.

_ “Tommy, please wake up! _

Another hysterical voice called for him. He wished he could reassure it that he was here.

Blood gushed from his open wounds, the warmth seeping from his skin, and soon enough the flames died down as a pool of thick, crimson fluid spilled across his limbs. He felt a tight pressure around his kidneys and a gentle hand on his forehead, pushing the beads of sweat deeper into him.

A hoarse, raspy cough burst his lungs open, jolting him upwards as he hacked out the fluid from his throat. He could finally move. Rays of light hit his eyes, blinding him with vigor, but he was just thankful for no longer being trapped in the dark anymore.

“Thank fuck you’re awake, Tommy,” he heard Wilbur’s panicked tone ring through his ears, too sharp and too bright for his oncoming headache.

Tommy could barely reply. He bent over with his arms around his stomach, hyperventilating and groaning in never-ending pain. His double vision wasn’t helping the nausea in the slightest. “Help,” he croaked through another bout of coughs shattering his already shivering stature.

“Is there anything you can do? Someone please, do something about this!” Wilbur shouted, and Tubbo tugged on his sleeve to calm him down.

“Wait, I should have a few drops left of my healing potion,” Techno ran off towards Wilbur’s bedroom where he left his coat. Quickly digging through the pockets and getting hold of a tiny crystal bottle containing a dark purple fluid, he sprinted back to where Tommy had been lying down, surrounded by the entirety of L’Manberg.

“What kind of dark magic bullshit is this?” Tubbo questioned, but couldn’t care enough to prevent Techno from giving it to Tommy – whatever worked was more than welcome.

Techno held Tommy’s chin up and pressed the bottle against his lips. “Drink this, Tommy,” he instructed, and the boy obeyed despite the tears running down his face. The taste was unpleasantly bitter. His face scrunched up and an ugly wheeze left his throat.

But a few seconds later, he fell back down onto the bed and his eyes shot wide open. The pain subsided, almost as if it was never there in the first place. Everything was numb, but he wasn’t hurting.

“Holy shit.” Tommy’s voice was hoarse. “I thought I was a goner,” he breathed.

Wilbur flashed Techno a grateful gaze, resting his hand on his rapidly beating heart in relief. He ruffled Tommy’s hair instead of hugging him, as the blood-soaked bandages around the boy’s body prevented any further contact.

Tommy was severely hurt from the battle. He slept for two days, and the entire left side of his body was sliced and damaged by one of the younger soldiers from the Dream SMP army. This nightmare was his first vital sign, and Wilbur was near the end of his nerves. Tubbo and Wilbur felt equally guilty for the young boy’s injuries, knowing he was willing to give his life for them, and for L’Manberg.

He was brave, but he shouldn’t have needed to be.

Once his vision cleared, and the tightness in his chest disappeared into nothingness, Tommy dared to move his head and look around the room to meet the eyes of inquisitive observers. Niki was there, her hands bloodied from tending to his wounds. Tubbo –  _ thank god  _ – was next to him, without a single scar on his body. His sacrifice was worth it.

He noticed that George was missing, but there was somebody else to fill his spot.  _ What the fuck was Techno doing here? _ Tommy was too tired to ask out loud. He would find out eventually. For now, he was glad to be alive, and thankful to Techno for whatever it was that alleviated his ever-growing aches.

“Don’t ever do something so stupid again,” Tubbo reached to grab him by the arm, but pulled away when Tommy winced in pain. “You almost died defending me!”

“And I’d do it again,” Tommy muttered, his piercing blue eyes meeting Tubbo’s. “Is Ranboo okay as well?”

“Yes, he wasn’t hurt.” Tubbo nodded. “Fundy and Wilbur were the most injured, but they’re better today. Eret and Jack had some bruises, too.”

“So- so L’Manberg won?” The blond boy hazily smiled.

“We won, Tommy.” Niki reassured him. “We won because of you.“

“Well technically, it’s because I- “

“Shut up, Techno.” Wilbur cut him off with razor-sharp words, and the pink-haired man pursed his lips, nodding in understanding. “Tommy, I’m sorry,” Wilbur’s voice softened as he turned to face his brother. “I promise I’ll never let you get hurt again. I vowed to protect you, and I failed. It won’t repeat.”

Tommy scoffed and sluggishly shook his head. “You’re fucking stupid,” he laughed through his nose. “I’m fine!” To prove his stubbornness, he tried to sit up.

Needless to say, he felt as if a thousand needless were jabbed into his kidneys, and fell back down with a whine, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.

So much for being a hero, when he couldn’t even move.

Wilbur sighed at the tiresome boy. Even in his sickest hour, Tommy managed to be reckless. He had little regard for his safety, and prioritized other people a bit too much, to the point of forgetting his own needs. Sometimes, Wilbur could relate, and he wished Tommy weren't the same as him in that area of life. “You should rest more, Tommy. Take all the time you need, and call for me if you want anything. I’ll be in the house.”

“I just want everyone to leave so I can talk to Tubbo alone,” Tommy insisted, gazing at his best friend. He already felt better knowing that Tubbo wasn’t harmed. It was the only important thought on his mind - that Wilbur and Tubbo were fine.

“Alright, everyone scatter,” Wilbur waved towards the door as soon as Tommy said the word. The L’Manberg citizens obeyed, each giving the boy one last glance over their shoulders before disappearing from the room. Techno hesitated, his curiosity getting the best of him, but when Wilbur grabbed him by the arm and pulled him outside, he had no choice but to leave. The door was shut behind them; only Tommy and Tubbo remained alone.

There was so much to say.

It depressed them both, and they were sure they shared the same thought - they were just kids. Kids whose childhoods slipped from their fingers before they had the chance to hold onto it. Kids who think about war and train with real swords to protect their lives instead of playing in the yard without a single trouble in the world. No parents, no real home, and living underneath a cloud of destruction, death and danger. Tubbo only wanted to paint, and take care of his bees. Now, he hadn’t touched a brush in days, ever since Wilbur and Tommy appeared at his doorstep looking for a home and transformed his lonesome cottage house into a defensive city. 

Then again, if it wasn’t for Wilbur and his leadership, the Dream SMP would have taken over his land one way or the other. So maybe it was for the better?

And Tommy… Tommy just wanted to protect everybody, even at the expense of his own life. 

“I know you think you’re brave for almost dying.” Tubbo’s voice was a mere whisper. “But if you died for me, I wouldn’t care about staying alive. Your sacrifice wouldn’t matter.”

Tommy made an effort to sit up, despite the ache growing in his stomach. “I want to make you happy, Tubbo, but I don’t know how. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” he pleaded in despair.

“Stay alive.” Tubbo had an answer ready on his tongue. “I don’t want to be here if you’re not by my side.”

“And if you die?”

“Tommy, you have Wilbur. He’s your brother and your best friend, your caretaker, the centre of your world. If I die, you will still have him in your life. Even that Techno guy is here now, and he seems kinder than you had first described him. But me? I have absolutely no one. I thought I was okay with it, and I used to tell myself that I prefer the loneliness, that I’m perfectly alright getting on by myself. Then you walked into my life. You showed me friendship, you made me laugh, and you gave me the gift of feeling something again, when I thought I never would. And every day I live in fear that you’ll be ripped from my arms and I’ll have to go back to a bleak world, an empty heart and nobody to live for. Please, for the love of everything, Tommy, don’t risk everything in a pointless battle for pointless territories, stop thinking you need to die to be a hero… You want to be a hero, Tommy? Then stay alive.”

The words fell heavy on Tommy’s chest. Their weight sank him into the bed, pressing down on his heart and squeezing the air from his lungs. 

“Okay,” he breathed out, and gripped the hem of Tubbo’s shirt sleeve to feel a kind of closeness. “But you can’t stop me from protecting you when we’re in danger. It’s happening, whether you want it or not. I’ll fuck up every last son of a bitch that tries to hurt you.” He spoke through a burning lump of pain in his throat.

The older boy let out a light chuckle. “I see.” 

“Thank you for being kind to me,” Tommy’s eyes glowed with genuine gratitude.

“Get some rest.” Tubbo commanded. “And remember, Wilbur and I are at your service. Techno, too, probably. And the rest of L’Manberg.”

“That’s wonderful, but I don’t need assistance.” Tommy frowned. “Go, I’ll be fine.”

“Will you?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Two days since the battle, two days since George abandoned L’Manberg to pursue one path of his emotional confusion, and he still hadn’t spoken to Dream. The citizens of the Dream SMP looked at him with judgement in their eyes, scolding him with their glares as he passed them in the streets. He was no longer king. The castle, once his home, was completely in Dream’s hands, and George had no choice but to build himself a new place to stay. He chose a mushroom meadow, and raised up a brown cottage house from the ground, crafting it from scratch as he had nothing on him anymore. 

He felt like an outcast in his own nation.

Nobody could sympathize with a traitor, and he knew they didn’t want him back. He wasn’t quite sure why he betrayed L’Manberg as well, when it provided him with a space of safety and the kindest people he had ever come in contact with. His heart was buried in the Dream SMP, but the Dream SMP rejected him like a failed organ transplant. Every hateful gaze from his fellow citizens stabbed him in the gut. 

What did Wilbur think? Did he hate him, too? Maybe he deserved to be despised by everyone. He wasn’t a good man anyway, he was destined for hell by every ethical standard in the book. But it was Dream’s fault, not his. Or was it? 

He couldn’t blame Dream for his wrongdoings, when he was the one who consciously made the choice to take his orders and kill all those people. 

George had never thought the world could become more colourless, but here he was.

If only he could turn back time.

Where would he even go? Perhaps before the creation of the Dream SMP, when he wandered freely in the wilderness with Dream and Sapnap, exploring the beauties of the world and collecting resources just for the fun of it. Those times were the highlights of his life, their warm glow brought heat to his hollow heart. 

Or he’d go to the day he received the order to execute Tubbo’s mother, and stop past George from turning the poor kid into an orphan. He would make changes, and rebel before Dream got fully devoured by power and darkness. If he had tried to reform the SMP back then, maybe he wouldn’t even be in this situation, and maybe Wilbur and Tommy would have still had Logstedshire. 

George considered rebuilding that tiny place. It was far away from the centre, along the west borders of the nation on the edge of a dark oak forest. He didn’t really know why, since it served no purpose to anyone, but he thought of it as a monument. 

Right now, he sat beneath a flickery lantern under the low ceiling of his new mushroom house, contemplating every decision he had ever made. 

“What’s the point?” He muttered under his breath as he worked on an iron axe, polishing it so he could cut down some trees and shield himself from the cold. “I messed everything up.”

“You did,” he heard a mellow voice from his doorstep, startling him with its unexpected appearance. 

George’s gaze quickly moved towards the visitor. His eyes stopped when they met Dream’s, clouded with anger and disappointment. The man was leaning against the doorframe, not a trace of weapons in his hands. “Dream,” George choked out. “Why are you here?”   
  
“To talk to you,” Dream shrugged, the caramel scent of his words cooking up nausea in George’s stomach. 

“If you came to tell me how much wrong I’ve done, you can leave. I know it all.”

“Shut up.” The blond man huffed, advancing inside of the house without asking. “I just wanted to see you.”

“What, did you miss me?” George scoffed, his voice shaky and unconfident. Tears pooled in his eyes at the thought, but he blinked until they dissipated. 

“I did.” Dream replied with a disturbing tranquility in his tone, catching George off guard.

“Don’t say that,” the other said through gritted teeth. He couldn’t bear to look up from the ground. “Don’t toy with me this way.”

“Oh, come on now,” Dream chuckled, a slight eye roll escaping him. “I’m not toying with you, George. When I lost you, I realized how much I needed you in my life. Seeing you in the row of L’Manberg soldiers made me feel more alone than ever before. Let’s put all of this behind us and agree it’s all Wilbur’s fault. But he’s just a useless tyrant, we shouldn’t let him get in the way of what we have.”

“You didn’t lose me,” George spat out. “You exiled me. And how on Earth can you blame Wilbur, when you went out of your way to make me kill him? If it wasn’t for you, he would have never become a leader of a city! He and Tommy would have had a peaceful life, whether on the Dream SMP land or somewhere else, but they would have been safe! You made him duel with Sapnap, chased them off this territory when they weren't causing trouble, and then went after him in the Farmlands. You expect me to have sympathy for you, but Dream… You’re the tyrant.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the younger shook his head, lips pursed into a smirk. “Such a tyrant, allowing a traitor to return home because I put our friendship in priority.”

“I’m only called a traitor because I refused to kill someone!” George shouted as he slammed his new axe into the wooden floor of his house and watched the wood crack between his feet. He stood up, looking up at Dream and getting in his face. “Why are you so obsessed with power and blood? And why am I the one who pays for your ideals of war?”

“Stop being so dramatic, it’s all over now. You chose the right side when it mattered the most, so why do you insist on bringing this entire thing up again?” Dream began to get impatient. 

“You didn’t miss me.” George laughed. “You missed having someone to manipulate.”

“Then why did you come back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to say a quick thank you to everybody who has been supporting the fanfic - i've gotten so many wonderful comments, and even DMs, from people who are enjoying the story. it means so much to me, and your words are what drives me to keep writing with enthusiasm! i love you <3


	14. Secrets and Sickness

October air snuck up on the Farmlands with its looming grey clouds and heavy dullness, throwing the people into a bleak, dispirited mood. Every last colour of life was sucked out of them by the fact that winter was approaching and they had not enough resources to comfortably survive it. At least it was quiet in the house, for a change, as everyone was busy. To some a stifling silence, and to others a blissful piece of serenity. 

Most L’Manberg citizens weren't at home. Everybody worked diligently on the tasks Wilbur had assigned them to do. Wilbur and Tubbo wandered through the wild in the search for oak logs to provide heat, leaving the house for the first time since Tommy’s big injury. They were at his side for days on end, both scared that something would happen to him if they weren't always above his head and looking after him. This tended to annoy Tommy sometimes, but he liked their company. It was better than being stuck in the room alone. He wasn’t ready to perform any menial chores yet, so they allowed him to lie in bed for as long as he needs the rest - or, better say, encouraged it, while he fought against it and tried to run outside just to fall back down again.

Niki and Fundy were tending to a farm that he had built away from the house, and Eret stayed in his house to sew winter clothes for the people. No one knew what exactly Jack was trying to achieve, but he had gotten an interest in the potions Techno brought from the tundra, and began improvising brewing some of his own - of course, he had no idea which ingredients he needed or what would come out of it, but he played his role of the local crazy scientist pretty well. The others were amused, and they appreciated the bit of laughter at his failed brewing attempts.

And Techno? 

He appreciated the silence in the house as a result of everyone’s absence. Sometimes he thought he would go insane with so many voices constantly speaking around him, shouting over each other, chatting his ear off, and he missed the peace he had in his northern home. L’Manberg was nice, but it wasn’t even close to his preferred lifestyle of isolation. Then again, a part of him enjoyed sparking new connections with people. He decided to ignore that part of himself. As if he would ever be a social person!

Checking up on Tommy and finding him sound asleep in his room, Techno smiled at the sight - he was hugging a pillow close to his chest, his ruffled hair hanging all over the place as he lightly snored and muttered something incoherent in his sleep. 

Okay, maybe staying here was worth it, if he got to see his family every day. 

In a soft motion, he closed the door of the boy’s bedroom so he wouldn’t wake him up, and walked over to Wilbur’s office room to investigate a little while everyone was away. Techno was quite curious about what Wilbur had to hide, especially because the man refused to tell him absolutely anything, even basic questions such as ‘how are you feeling’ or ‘what do you want for breakfast.’ He hadn’t expected his younger brother to be that secretive. 

But he knew that Wilbur liked writing in a diary when he was younger, and he hoped that the habit had stayed with him. Rummaging through his bedside drawers, Techno got hold of a crunchy old notebook with the words ‘DO NOT READ’ written on the front covers. In Techno’s head, this book begged to be read.

He sat on the bed and pushed his hair up into a messy ponytail so it wouldn’t prick his eyes, before flipping through the pages until something interesting caught his attention. Wilbur had a decent calligraphic handwriting, quite pleasing to look at, but lots of words were scribbled over, even to the point of ripping through the paper. Perhaps some things were too private even for his diary.

“Come on, give me something intriguing,” Techno muttered, eyeing each page from corner to corner. 

His gaze stopped on an entry from September 24th, the date Techno had saved his life.

_ ‘The pain I am feeling is immeasurable. I can barely grip a pen from how much my hands are hurting, and I feel like my body will split into two. This isn’t reality, it can’t be. When I first saw him, all the memories flooded me. I felt every last word on my skin, everything my father ever said to me, and I saw him in Techno’s eyes. This is unbearable, it makes me feel like ripping through my own flesh and ridding my body of all its bones. I want him to go, but I feel so ungrateful for thinking that. It wasn’t his fault, it’s all Phil’s fault. Techno is yet another collateral victim of his disgusting emotional abuse, but I cannot help but blame him at least a little bit for all he had put me through. Still, he helped me escape Dream, and he has been nothing but kind. I don’t know what to feel. Maybe I should feel nothing at all.’ _

Techno understood why Wilbur would blame him. It was no surprise, since he had wronged him in the past. But he tried so hard to become better, and it slightly upset him that Wilbur was taking this long to recognize his efforts. He was taking care of Tommy, giving medical assistance as he knew more things than they did, he helped Fundy and Eret and even Jack with his potions, yet Wilbur couldn’t see him as more than his father’s reflection. Which he was not. 

His healing needed more time. Techno had to remind himself of that. 

He was about to flip through more pages of Wilbur’s journal, but a rustling noise from behind interrupted his search for secrets. The sound of tiny footsteps snuck through the floor. “Huh?” Techno shoved the notebook under the pillow and held his breath, thinking he was caught in the act.

Luckily, it wasn’t Wilbur. He could breathe. At the doorstep stood Ranboo, innocent eyes looking around so he could avoid meeting Techno’s gaze.

“Hello,” the boy muttered, glancing from wall to wall. “What are you doing?”

Techno contemplated. Was Ranboo a snitch? Would he tell Wilbur? He didn’t trust the boy. Then again, he did not see him as a communicative person around here, except with Tubbo and sometimes Tommy. “I’m just tidying Wilbur’s bedroom.” He decided to play it safe. “Why are you here?”

“Lonely,” Ranboo pursed his lips. “Tubbo is busy and Tommy is sleeping.”

“Then go do something useful?” Techno raised an eyebrow, unsure whether he was asking a question or not.

“That’s why I came to you.”

“I thought it was because you’re lonely.”

“That too,” Ranboo held his hands behind his back, afraid to look up as it already made him feel uncomfortable enough to have this conversation in the first place. Tubbo was the only person he felt okay talking to. “I would like to become a better fighter. And- and you’re the best.”

Techno’s exhale was deep enough to provoke the void itself. “Seriously?” He looked at Ranboo unamused. “I’m not going to train you. Do you really think I have nothing better to do with my life?”

The tall boy cowered underneath Techno’s words, frightened by the older man’s demeanor. Yet something pulled him towards the other, despite the fear and discomfort - he felt as if Techno didn’t dislike him at all. “I’m sorry,” he fidgeted with a tiny rock between his fingers, hiding his eyes behind a bush of light brown hair. Carefully, he took a few small steps backwards and pretended he was leaving the room. 

“Wait,” Techno groaned at himself in annoyance, “I’ll help you".

Ranboo just  _ knew  _ he would say that. 

No matter how much Techno tried to keep up his tough, untouchable persona, the softness of his real personality tended to seep from his tongue whether he liked it or not. And Ranboo was aware of that, so he decided to use it to his advantage. He might have been the most timid person in L’Manberg, but his days of quiet were used for concentrated observation - he knew more about the people than they might have known about themselves. It was a little frustrating to know so much about humanity and not be able to interact with it because of the constant fear of being perceived. 

But it was even more frustrating to be a terrible fighter.

“Thank you,” he smiled ever so slightly, staring at Techno’s dress shirt with an unfocused gaze. “I don’t want to be a hindrance to L’Manberg any longer.”

“You’re not as bad as you think, actually, and I’ve noticed potential in you. But you seem so fearful all the time. You need to relax and let the movements come naturally.” Techno advised. He got up from the bed, completely forgetting about leaving Wilbur’s notebook underneath the pillow, and let his hair out of the rubber band so it flowed over his shoulders with the softness of cotton candy.

Following Ranboo out of the room, the two headed towards the fields. On their way out of the house, they each grabbed their respectful weapons as they disappeared into the coldness of October air.

Perhaps this was another way for Techno to prove himself to Wilbur. 

He would make his brother like him, and he was ready to do whatever it took.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Evening had fallen. It was another full day of work for Wilbur, and he felt as if he was going to collapse any moment underneath the heaviness of his own limbs. Tubbo and he carried bags worth of oak logs, dragging them back to the house and silently praying for no monsters to make their task even more intolerable. On the way home, they had already stumbled across a zombie and an enderman, but those were not too difficult to avoid. The endermen were friendly, so long as they didn’t make eye contact with them. But if they were to encounter a skeleton, or any of the other mysterious creatures with a bow and arrow - they would be toast. 

Wilbur paid attention to his every movement. With each passing second, he was becoming incredibly aware of the sack handles cutting into his skin, piercing the palms of his hands. The pressure mixed with pain made it unbearable, and he scraped his tongue against his gritted teeth to help him ease the ache in his body. The fortunate thing was that they did not have a long way to go. But Wilbur wasn’t sure if he’d make it home. Sweat glued his clothes to his skin. His legs did not move the way his brain instructed them to, and a metallic weight pulled them into the ground until he could barely sense anything besides pins and needles from his knees to his feet. He stomped harder in the grass, thinking it would make the earth more real, but it just exacerbated the post-exertion malaise. Tubbo noticed his ragged breaths, and made an effort to slow down. He was just as exhausted, yet Wilbur dealt with it worse.

“We only have a bit more to walk and then we’re home,” Tubbo thought he should vocalize a comforting thought for Wilbur, despite the other not making a single noise of complaint.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Wilbur said through a sharp intake of breath. His vision was blurry, filled with spots in the centre of his viewfield. Every motion made him feel less alive and more faint. He needed to sit down fast. 

“Do you want to take a break?” The younger boy became worrisome as he took note of Wilbur’s faltering footsteps.

As much as Wilbur craved a break, he knew that once he would sit down, there was a big chance he wouldn’t be able to get back up. And it felt selfish to put such a responsibility on a child, to take care of him while they rest. “Let’s just keep going,” he said.

“Alright, just don’t pass out on me,” Tubbo shrugged. 

“Shut up, I’m not going to.” Wilbur retorted, but it didn’t feel as powerful with the incessant ringing in his ears that pounded through his skull until it trickled like dust down his throat into the lungs. The sensation of sand in his chest never went away, only grew stronger.

Tubbo stopped in his tracks, lowering the bags of oak logs and his axe to the ground. “Don’t push yourself, please, you’re just as stubborn as Tommy. I’m not letting you both get hurt because of your recklessness.”

“Tubbo, we cannot afford to sit in the dark,” Wilbur’s voice was nearly a whine. “We’ll get killed!”

“Sit and rest, Wilbur.” Tubbo ordered. 

“I’m your boss, remember?” The older shot back, but his body pushed him to accept the offer. He flashed Tubbo a dissatisfied glare and flopped down onto the ground, dropping the sacks of wood so a couple of logs rolled away from him. 

For a second, his vision faded to black, and he had to summon all his remaining power to gain it back. The vignette around his field of view was slowly replaced by the darkness of his surroundings. In the distance, he heard growling sounds of familiar monsters, luckily none in their radius of sight. 

He let the dullness in his muscles overtake as he leaned his head onto one of the bags and allowed his limbs to drop to the side of his body. It was more than a challenge to stay awake, when his eyelids began to give up on him. “I’m so tired,” he mumbled. “This was a bad idea.”

“Nah,” Tubbo waved his hand. “It’s fine.”

Chirps of birds flew through the air and danced in the evening sky, accompanied by a breezy wind carrying the sounds around and bouncing them from one bird to the other. The forest edge was close enough to be heard, but they were safe in the plains. They couldn’t wait to finally lie down on the comfort of their beds and have the longest sleep of their lives, and the peace of nature made it harder to keep going and motivate themselves to stand up. 

“Tubbo, did I hurt you in any way?” Wilbur suddenly asked, surprising Tubbo with the question. “Because I feel like I did.”

The boy hummed in thought. “Well, that day when you let George into my house without notifying me, that was hurtful. But I got over it. I even forgave him, so it’s all good now.”

“I turned your home into a battlefield.”

“You did,” Tubbo wistfully chuckled. “Eh, it would’ve been attacked one way or the other. If it wasn’t for you and L’Manberg, I would eventually become a part of the Dream SMP against my will. Yet we chased them away, we won and I got to keep my house. Think of it that way. You blame yourself a little too much for things that are out of your control.”

Wilbur curled into himself at the words and wrapped his arms around the bag keeping his head away from the ground. “I know,” he muttered. “I feel like a nuisance all the time- and why am I saying that to a fourteen-year-old? Sorry, forget it. It’s fine.”

“I’m not a child, Wilbur, I understand emotions and you are not burdening me with yours.” Tubbo sighed. “We all respect you. Even after you fall to the ground and cry in pain, even if you make a mistake, we’ll still respect you. Because you would do anything for us. I mean, for god’s sake, you fought Dream in the war! You took him on without hesitation, and despite the fact you lost the battle, your courage gave us motivation to keep fighting when we felt like we were at the end of our ropes.”

“Thank you, Tubbo.” Wilbur said with absolute sincerity, audible from the warmth in his voice. “It means a lot to hear that from somebody as brave as you.”

“Believe me, I'm not that brave,” the younger boy shrugged his shoulders. 

"How so?"

“I just have nothing to lose."

After an exasperating walk back home alongside Tubbo, Wilbur headed straight for the bedroom. He didn’t take a second out of his life to greet anyone who sat at the table, and he didn’t bother to grab a piece of bread for dinner. All he wanted was sleep, his head begged for rest and his bones screamed at him to provide it. Niki greeted him at the entrance, expecting to have a conversation, but he simply pushed through the people and ignored any noises and physical sensations that came his way. Even the faintest flicker of light aggravated his pain, dusting his eyes so he covered them with his hands. 

He took off his coat and slumped onto his pillow as soon as he stepped into his room. 

And as he put his arm underneath it to bring its softness closer to his body, his fingers gripped a crinkly object, recognizable to his touch. He frowned in confusion, taking it out from underneath the pillow. “What- how did this get here?” He asked the walls as his gaze met his journal. “Who the fuck read this?”

It couldn’t have been Tommy, since he’d been bed-bound all day. Everybody else was on duty except Ranboo, who would’ve never done something like this due to his nature of shying away from things, so that only left one person. Someone with a motive. 

Techno.

Wilbur should have known not to trust him enough to let him back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the shorter & later chapter! had a bit of a chronic illness flare lately, plus school is back in real life.  
> next chapter i've got something really interesting planned :)
> 
> as always, i hope you've enjoyed and thank you for all the support!


	15. Torn Apart

George was alone.

Or maybe he wasn’t. But even when people visited his little mushroom house, he felt alone. Lonely was a better word, perhaps. Though not even that could accurately portray the heaviness he carried on his chest day in and day out. He belonged nowhere. And yes, Dream might have told him that he still cared about him here and there, Sapnap made sure to spend time with him once in a while… Yet it felt insincere, incomplete. There was a certain dullness tearing him apart when he thought about how his friends (were they friends?) lived in the castle that he used to own, while he had to alienate himself from the centre of the Dream SMP.

Desolate, that was the word he was looking for.

Wasting away in isolation, George got sick of not being involved in the main action. He wanted a taste of his old life, at least a whiff, and he missed his friends.

He missed L’Manberg, too. If he hadn’t abandoned them, betrayed their trust, he would have still had a community to feel a part of. Now he could just keep those days close to his heart like a fond memory, but he could never go back. As if Wilbur would forgive him for ditching them amidst a life-or-death situation!

Then again, George was the reason they had won. If he didn’t tell Dream to retreat, perhaps Wilbur and his friends would have perished in battle. No- no. It was still George’s fault. He couldn't give himself credit for saving a nation that considered him a traitor.

_ A traitor to all sides is a traitor to none. _

Even though he resided on Dream SMP territory, George really wasn’t a part of any faction anymore. This might have caused him a great deal of emotional pain, but it gave him just as much of an advantage - he could help all of his friends and attempt to keep peace between the nations. All he wanted was for chaos and bloodshed to be gone once for eternity. But the Dream SMP was built on those values, and it was going to be a hard mission to change it.

He had to reform it.

The only question was - how? It was hard to convince Dream of anything, and he wouldn’t listen to what George had to say anyway. Instead of directly speaking to Dream, George had to sabotage him. He needed to find out what their next attack plan was, and sabotage the hell out of it. There was no other way to keep the peace. The main goal wasn’t about actual peace in the first place, since that would be a near impossible, idealistic- no,  _ childish  _ challenge to daydream about. But he could protect the ones he cared for, provide them safety and protect them from the way-too-soon arrival of their impending deaths. 

He cared about Tommy and Wilbur, and he had ever since he found Wilbur on the edge of the forest curled up in a sweet berry bush, ever since he brought him home and watched Tommy run into his arms. He cared about Fundy and Niki, although they hadn’t spoken much, because they treated him like a human being and showed themselves to be amicable. And Tubbo-  _ hell-  _ he needed to protect Tubbo with his life. If he hurt him again, if someone else close to him died because of George again, he would never be able to forgive himself. 

Perhaps he could sneak back into the castle and try to find where Dream kept his strategies and blueprints for future attacks - when George was king, the plans were locked in an iron safe behind George’s closet, but this had probably changed by now so he couldn’t gain access to it. 

There was only one way to find out.

George had to be discreet about this. He couldn’t simply walk into the centre of the SMP and pretend everything was fine, as people used to throw him judging glances while he still went to the market. They looked at him as if he was the biggest scum of the planet, and it hurt worse than a stab wound through the chest. 

He decided to take the longer route, and grabbed an iron axe with him in case of need for self-defense. It would have been a perilous journey if he hadn’t lived in the Dream SMP so many years - he was familiarized with every last corner of the land and every shortcut that existed. God, it was painful to walk down a path to the Community house and not be able to visit, but go around it instead. If only he hadn’t messed up this badly, if only he could turn back time. 

The wish to turn back time plagued his mind on a daily basis. Alas, it wasn’t possible, so he shouldn’t have worried his weary head with the thought of it.

Soon enough, he was approaching the King’s castle, the building that should have been his. It loomed above his head with a new kind of intimidation within the polished iron and chiseled stone. He heard a female voice from nearby, and his body took less than a second to react. Hiding between the stairwell and a wall, he held his breath and did not allow a single noise to escape his throat. The voice belonged to Puffy, one of the knights and guardians of the castle. He would be shredded like a piece of useless paper if she were to lay her eyes on him. Hearing her footsteps advance towards him, George clenched his fingers around the handles of the axe and shut his eyes tight in fear. The noises slowly disappeared to the other side and he could finally relax. Thank goodness he wasn’t spotted.

After wasting a couple of seconds calming down from the sudden fear pumping through his blood, he found himself at the back entrance of the castle - only a few people knew about it or how to get inside, and he considered himself to be one of those lucky few. He dug around the dirt to find a silver button that he had planted with Dream all those years ago. Once his fingers grazed the top of the object, he took a moment - hesitant - and breathed in. 

As he pushed the button, its click resonated through the air and George once again feared being noticed. The invisible doors slid to the right and let him inside a dark, abandoned hallway. 

He took a reluctant step forward. 

The gloom of the darkness was less than inviting. No torches lit up his way, only their burnt corpses lay on the floor in a crisp. Water dripped from the ceiling, one drop making its way to the palm of his hand. Nobody had been here in so long, it was obvious. George moved with caution, aware of every sound his boots made on the floor - it was freezing, and the cold radiating from the stone nipped at his feet through the thick bottom of the shoes. He shuddered at the feeling. Searching the pockets of his dark blue coat, he pulled out a box of matches and scraped one against the side a couple of times until it produced enough light for him to gain a glint of his vision back.

Echoes of the past rang through the walls. A metallic taste filled George’s mouth, making him realize he bit his lip so hard it bled. He was more than afraid. The ghostly ambience of this dungeon-like hallway turned his bones to ice. 

In the distance he heard shouting, and it took him a brief moment to analyze where it was coming from. 

Upstairs. It came directly from the meeting room. Dream only let people into the meeting room if he was planning something serious. He had to be quick to find out what they were yelling about. 

He lit another match and ran up a high, circular staircase, finding himself closer and closer to the source of the sound. The voice was definitely Dream’s, there was no dilemma. Sneaking around and paying attention to any nearby passing people - guards, servants, anybody who was allowed into the castle - he managed to reach the meeting room. Its gates were wide open, and he took a quick side-glance towards the inside. 

Dream spoke at the head of the table, wildly gesticulating and slamming his fists against the stone to accentuate the importance of the words that left his bloodthirsty tongue. There were seven people gathered round, and George recognized all of them. Of course, Sapnap was by Dream’s side. Always loyal, no matter what. Even if he disagreed. George wasn’t relating to such a mindset at the moment.

“...and it needs to be a surprise attack, do you understand me?” Dream’s shouting reached George’s ears. The traitor was back against the wall, making himself seem as small and unnoticeable as it was physically possible. He adjusted his breathing to a shallow range, and hoped he wouldn’t make any sudden sounds.

He continued to eavesdrop on the muffled meeting conversation.

“Yes, we have to do it by tonight. Last time, L’Manberg was prepared. They aren’t going to expect us this time, especially since they won the battle. But they won’t win the war, mark my words. That guy who saved Wilbur’s life, the pink-haired fighter? He’s the main target for all of you. Instead of attacking all of their insignificant soldiers, you take down the nexus. The core of everything. It’s Wilbur’s protector, but that’s not the only one.”

_ Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say _ , George thought to himself, his mind raging with unpleasant images.

“My task is to get rid of Wilbur’s younger brother. Tommy, I think that’s his name. It isn’t important, though, as he won’t breathe for much longer. Listen, I know what you may think - he’s a kid, how can his death benefit us? Let me elaborate. If we kill Wilbur, nothing changes. Wilbur does not care about dying, he cares about keeping his loved ones alive. And if we take from him what he holds dearest, we have Wilbur on his fucking knees. L’Manberg becomes our land. The Farmlands- the entire faction!- it becomes ours.” 

_ I’m not going to let that happen. _ He had to notify Wilbur about this by the evening, otherwise they were all gone for good. 

“And if we fail?” Sapnap’s voice interjected.

Dream chuckled. It was the lowest, most intimidating laugh that George had ever heard, laced with brutality and cold-blooded murder of innocents. It sent shivers up his spine, worse than the cold. “Sapnap, I have acquired something that the Dream SMP has not owned in years. I did some pleasant trading with certain people.” His lips curled into a smirk as he took out a giant white bag from under the tall table, slamming it down in front of the soldiers. “There is enough gunpowder in this bag to get rid of an entire city. And I say, if we can’t have L’Manberg, then no one- no one can have L’Manberg! If we fucking lose, we blow them all up to smithereens. We will leave nothing but dust behind our trail, do you understand?”

George felt his breath hitch at the words, and he slapped his hand against his mouth as his eyes widened in shock. This was bad, this was worse than he had initially thought.

And he didn’t have much time to act on it.

“Meeting adjourned. Everyone out.” Dream commanded his soldiers. 

That was George’s cue to get the fuck away from the room as fast as possible, otherwise he was going to be caught like a deer in the headlights. He tiptoed away from the entrance, darting away into a nearby hallway and walking on eggshells so he would go unheard. The chatter of Dream and his soldiers followed him down the stairs, and it made him run faster, sprinting towards the nearest exit. Shadows limited his vision, and the sulfuric stench of rotten eggs invaded his nostrils - these deserted parts of the castle elicited a new form of terror and unease inside of his stomach, turning it upside down until the fear nauseated him to the core. A gust of wind swirling around his feet signaled that an exit was near. He eyed his surroundings and ran towards the only ray of light that led him back outside. The smell was beginning to fade, and so did the soreness in his throat. It was soon enough replaced by the freshness of air, as he crouched underneath the miniature door and stepped into the grass. 

And just like that, he could finally exhale.

His mission was clear - he left the castle with a vital message to transfer to Wilbur and the rest of L’Manberg, a warning to save their lives. But was that a good idea? Maybe he shouldn’t get involved in other people’s conflicts. 

Of course he should. Of course he should, when it was his friends’ lives on the line. Dream was planning to kill Tommy, for goodness’ sake! And George watched that boy run into Wilbur’s arms. He was never going to let go of that image. It played in his head over and over, but this time the background sound was Dream’s threatening voice. George saved Wilbur’s life, and Wilbur saved his. He looked after Tommy and trained them while he was a part of L’Manberg, he witnessed the birth of their nation - so how could he stand on the sidelines and watch it fall victim to a tyrant’s destruction? 

No dilemma. It was for the greater good. 

The part of him that still wanted to be loyal to Dream shouted at him to keep the message to himself, but George brushed it off. His rational side knew he was being manipulated. And each time Dream visited him, told him he was his friend, he was being manipulated. Gaslighted. George wasn’t going to take it any longer, he was done being played like a puppet. Dream was never his friend. 

It was time to cut the strings once and for all.

  
  


* * *

  
  


To say that Wilbur built a wall around himself was an understatement. With each day, weeds of tension grew on his body and distanced him from the rest of L’Manberg, to the point where he began to feel alone amongst a crowd. He quit joining people for family breakfasts or dinners in the evening, he barely spoke to Niki; she felt pushed away, and couldn’t admit that she felt hurt by him. If Techno tried to initiate a conversation, Wilbur would shut him down immediately, retreating into his lonesome chambers. And Techno spent a lot of time with Ranboo anyway, training the boy and beginning to get along with him on a closer basis. 

The only person Wilbur hung out with was Tommy. He looked after him hours on end, got him back into fighting after his wounds had healed a little, and was always there for him whenever Tommy wanted it. Tubbo would accompany them at times, which was nice. He hadn’t given up on Wilbur just yet, unlike the rest of L’Manberg who froze that bridge. They couldn’t burn it, since he was still in charge of them, but they made it icy enough to keep him at arm’s length. After all, they abandoned their homes to join him, and they didn’t expect that original sense of family to disappear so fast.

He was aware that he disappointed them. It ate away at his soul until there was nothing left of it. But he couldn’t bring himself to reach out to people, and isolation just felt so much more comforting. On top of it all, his fear of trust was flaring up. It was Techno’s fault.

And some days his illness would keep him bedridden, but he wouldn’t let anyone into his room to see him in such a state. At the beginning, Techno and Jack attempted to get him to drink a potion they had brewed, supposedly one to help him regain strength. He rejected them each time until they simply stopped trying. If he wanted to fend for himself, they were not going to get in his way.

Wilbur hurt everyone, but he was the one hurting the most. 

“Oi, Wilbur, I’m going outside to hang out with Tubbo and Ranboo,” Tommy announced, peeking his head through the door to Wilbur’s bedroom. His older brother was lying on the bed, about to put away his journal. He took his circular glasses off his face and placed them on his nightstand, giving Tommy a blank gaze and nodding at his words.

“Alright, have fun,” he responded with a tired sigh. “Will Techno be there as well?”

“Probably, since he acts like Ranboo’s big brother or something. I think it’s cute.”

“Great,” Wilbur shrugged, slipping underneath the bed sheets. 

Tommy frowned at the other’s apathetic expressions. A few months ago, he begged Wilbur to shut up about whatever rant he went on - whether it was his deep hatred for anteaters, sand, or the concept of time - and today, he would give anything to hear him enthusiastically talk about a topic that Tommy knew nothing about. “Wilbur, do you want to join us?”

“Nah,” the older said. “I’m fine here.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! We are going to explore the land a bit, maybe find some of those ancient structures Techno talks about…” Tommy pleaded, walking over to the bed and pulling the sheets off him to throw them on the floor. “Get up, lazy bitch!”

“Tommy, stop,” Wilbur groaned in homicidal annoyance. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Please?”

“I’m not going if Techno is going.” 

“Aw, you still mad about him reading your diary?” Tommy mocked and took Wilbur by the hand, forcing him to sit up. “You’re a bigger child than me sometimes. You know you need to get out of bed eventually, so come on!”

Wilbur yanked his arm away from Tommy and threw him a bitter glare. “I’m way too exhausted to walk that far. Leave me alone, you guys have fun.”

“Okay, then we’ll hang out around the house! Whatever gets you out the room, big man.” 

“I don’t think you truly understand the severity of my executive dysfunction, Tommy.” He pulled the sheets over his head, his speech muffled through the warm covers. 

“I don’t even know what half of those words meant,” Tommy huffed. “Come on, you’re being so annoying. When was the last time you’ve spoken to anyone besides me? And when was the last time you’ve eaten anything more than a piece of bread? If you keep going like this, you’re going to die. Then I’ll be sad, and I’ll build a giant bomb with Tubbo to blow up the entire world as a coping mechanism. And when we wipe out society, Techno will be the last man standing. You wouldn’t want that, right? That would be so ‘armful to your ego,'' Tommy snorted, his words irritating the last cell of patience in Wilbur’s brain.

“You are the worst thing to happen to this world,” Wilbur put the pillow over his head and nearly sobbed in distress. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether he was truly upset with Tommy, or if a part of him wanted to join him. 

But he would have rather thrown himself into a freezing lake than spent time with Techno.

Still, despite everything - despite how exhausted he was and how much his body ached for him to stay in bed, he knew it was a good idea to go for a walk with Tommy. He could just ignore them all and talk to his younger brother, or enjoy his own company in his head while everybody else chatted amongst themselves.

“I can hear you contemplating,” Tommy jeered. “The cogs in your brain are spinning so hard right now, just make a decision. You going or not?”

Wilbur peeped his head from under the pillow, his bush of brown hair falling over his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’m going.”

“Yes! I love it when you can’t say no,” Tommy clapped his hands in excitement and instantly ran out of the room, shouting something through the house to Tubbo and Ranboo who waited for him in the front yard. 

The older sighed as his brother disappeared from his sight. Unwillingly, he stepped towards the closet in a couple of sluggish movements and took out one of his comforting yellow sweatshirts to put on. He pulled it over his head and squished his arms against his sides once the soft material embraced him. Out of sheer lack of motivation, he decided to leave his filthy trousers on, so he just put on the combat boots and walked towards the living room. The lethargy on his shoulders pressed him into the ground. He pretended it wasn’t there. 

With a glassy, unfocused gaze, his weary steps led him to the dining table, and he avoided meeting the eyes of the man who was sitting on one of the chairs. Instead of giving him any attention, he simply ignored his existence and grabbed a small iron axe he kept next to the fireplace in his arsenal of everyday tools. Just in case, he thought, if they ran into somebody or something they had to fight.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to join us.” Wilbur heard Techno’s voice from behind him, but tried to repress it towards the back of his mind.

“You got a problem with that?” He snapped at the other, only glancing at him from the corner of his eye without fully turning to look at him. 

“No, not at all,” Techno raised his hands in the air in defense. “It’s a pleasant surprise, actually. We haven’t spoken too much, due to your nature of… Well, not wanting to speak with me.”

“Ah, I see,” Wilbur’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I can’t wait to spend the next few hours with you, then! So excited to see where you’ll take us.”

“To be fair, I think you’ll quite enjoy it.” The older chuckled.

“Somehow I doubt that, Techno.” Wilbur headed towards the exit, giving the other a sour smile.

Techno pursed his lips in dissatisfaction, wishing that he hadn’t strained his relationship with Wilbur to the point of their only exchange in days being tense and full of provoking negativity. He screwed up by invading his privacy, that was sure. But he didn’t regret it, as there was no other way to find out about Wilbur’s thoughts. 

Okay, maybe he regretted it a little. 

Perhaps it was better not to know anything, than to have a brother who hated him. “Alright,” he said, picking up his enchanted sword and following Wilbur out the door to meet the boys.

This was bound to be a terribly awkward trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> terribly sorry for missing a few days of upload, i just wasn't feeling well :,)


	16. Little by Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: this chapter includes descriptions of self-harm and abuse.

“Woah, what is that?”

The children bounced behind Techno, excited to explore something new, as he led them towards a peculiar structure built from cobblestone and wooden planks. It seemed ancient, neglected, like it stood there for centuries before them. None of them knew who created it. Ranboo and Tubbo took a careful step towards its entrance, while Tommy attempted to dive straight inside it - with Techno blocking his path with his sword.

Techno pushed Tommy away from the decayed build and watched as the boy took an obedient step backwards. “This is a remnant of an old fortress. Long before any of us were born, people lived on this territory and made structures to protect themselves from intruders and barbaric attackers. But you know what’s interesting? There’s always a chest of goods hidden inside.” He gestured towards the chiseled walls, now embraced by weeds and overgrown grass. 

“It’s like a treasure quest!” Tubbo eagerly clapped his hands.

“Techno, how dangerous it is to go inside?” Wilbur’s grumpy mutter interrupted their talk.

“There tends to be more monsters than usual, it’s nothing I can’t handle in three hits.” Techno shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Wilbur opened his mouth to oppose the other’s words, but instead crossed his arms and gave a disgruntled huff. If there was something he couldn’t shit on, it was Techno’s brilliant combat skills. Still, he questioned how much danger he was willing to put those kids in. For a moment, he was glad he tagged along, as otherwise he would have been paralyzed with anxiety while waiting for their safe return home. This way, he had influence on what happened, and a right to  _ veto  _ Techno’s choices if he felt they were too risky.

Then again, every moment spent with Techno was reminiscent of his father. And those feelings stifled him until his mind was fully clouded with the past. 

He felt as if he had run a marathon. The pressure on his chest settled in, and the metal chains around his ankles made sure to pull him into the ground. Shivers up his spine reminded him of a newfound urge to hurt himself, throwing him into the worst mental fog he had ever experienced. In the past, he had episodes in which nothing felt real, but it hadn’t been this intense. The air around him was glowing in neon-white waves floating in front of his eyes, and the stone beneath his feet felt like nothing but the void. A complete mental stupor. The further they went into the fortress remnant, the louder Techno’s voice echoed against the walls, the more detached Wilbur became.

The scent of trauma infested his nostrils.

_ “You’re home late again.” His father’s stern voice cuts the air like a knife. Wilbur watches in fear as the man gets up from his seat and advances towards him in agonizingly slow steps. _

_ “You’re just looking for an excuse to hurt me,” Wilbur retorts, but wishes he’d bit his tongue a second later. Phil makes his way to the hallway, and Wilbur’s skin crawls once a jingling sound fills his ears. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, pretending he isn't there. This isn’t real life, just another one of his recurring nightmares. It has to be. _

_ “Arms out,” Phil commands and snaps the belt just once, enough to make his son flinch. _

_ Wilbur hesitates. He catches a glimpse of Tommy in the living room out of the corner of his eye, exchanging a terrified gaze with the younger boy. If only Tommy didn’t have to see him suffer like this.  _

_ “Look at me when you’re spoken to!” The ferocity of Phil’s words make Wilbur whip his head forwards, fearfully avoiding eye contact with the man. He feels panic rise in his throat, and it suffocates him, fills his lungs with ash. With resentment, he puts out his trembling arms and looks away.  _

_ “Please don’t,” a shaky whisper escapes him. “I promise I won’t-” he is interrupted by a sharp blow of the leather against his sensitive skin. He swallows a cry and, before he can mentally prepare, a stronger hit comes in contact with his arms. The pain shoots through his body like a lightning bolt. “Stop!” He shouts, high-pitched and pleading.  _

_ “Would you rather I kick you in the stomach?” Phil delivered a slap across Wilbur’s face, making the younger cower in terror.  _

_ “Why do you want to hurt me so bad?!” Wilbur pushes his father away, just to be slammed back into the wall. He hears his fragile spine scream in protest. “What did I ever do to deserve this?” _

_ “You know exactly what you did,” his father taunts. “You selfish piece of shit should’ve never been born in the first place.” He inflicts one final belt whip against the boy’s face and leaves him behind in the dust of his mistakes. _

_ Once Phil is out of the room, Wilbur runs his gentle fingers over the tingles on his face as waterfalls of bitter tears begin to fall down his cheeks. He slides down the wall and finds himself on the floor, burying his shame in the palms of his hands. Tommy sprints up to him from the living room and kneels next to his shivering figure. “Are you alright?” The nine-year-old boy questions, sadness deep within the blueness of his eyes.  _

_ “I’m fine,” Wilbur chokes through a heavy sob and gives Tommy a reassuring nod.  _

_ The boy doesn’t believe him. Despite Wilbur’s usual refusal to accept affection, Tommy buries his face in his brother’s chest and Wilbur pulls him into a tight embrace. They are always there for each other, in the darkest of times.  _

_ Wilbur can’t stop replaying his father’s actions in his head. He cries into Tommy’s hair.  _

“Wilbur! Wilbur, you zoned out!”

Reality felt like a cold slap against his face. His eyes widened as his brain processed Tommy’s voice. He blinked a couple of times, confused and afraid, and gaped at the people in front of him while his lips were pursed to an uncomfortable degree.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Techno commented. “All of a sudden you stopped responding.”

“And he’s white as a sheet,” Ranboo muttered to Tubbo, the other agreeing with a nod.

Wilbur gulped, taking a second to soak in his surroundings. “It was-” he attempted to speak, but the previous fear didn’t leave his throat. It was just a flashback, he told himself. A deafening, but muted tone filled his ears with its ceaseless ringing. His rapid heartbeat thumped against his chest loud enough to muffle any other sound. It was just a flashback. He wasn’t really at home, Phil wasn’t there, he wasn’t being hurt…

Then why did it feel so real?

Techno approached his anxious younger brother, softly waving a hand in front of his blank stare. “Don’t want to interrupt your traumatic memories, but we need to get a move on before the evening falls.” He tried to be as gentle as possible, knowing he tended to sound harsh without meaning to.

Wilbur winced at Techno’s sternness. It reminded him too much of Phil. “Piss off, Techno,” he said, glaring at the other, but it felt uncertain, it lacked a factor of intimidation. “I don’t want you here.”

“I mean,” Techno chuckled awkwardly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his winter coat. “I could leave, but I think you could use a fighter on your side. Especially because the Dream SMP hasn’t returned in a while and I feel like they could attack soon.”

“You’re not my protector,” Wilbur spat out. “You’re a selfish piece of shit-” he cut himself off, realizing he said the same thing to Techno that his father had said to him. His jaw dropped in horror, and he took a slow step away from the other. 

“What’s going on, Wilbur?” Techno placed a consoling hand on his shoulder, but Wilbur slapped it away.

“I know,” Tommy’s glassy-eyed gaze fell upon the two. “He’s having flashbacks, Techno. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You never fucking cared when he was being abused.” 

This was the first time Tommy had expressed anything negative towards Techno ever since he showed up in L’Manberg. He tolerated him, even enjoyed his company, because he believed forgiveness was the healthiest thing to do. But he understood Wilbur’s perspective, and it pained him deeply to know how much damage Techno’s presence was causing the other. He drew the line at Techno’s blissful ignorance about how devastating trauma could be.

Ranboo threw Tubbo a confused glance (avoiding a direct contact with his eyes), not having any knowledge on Wilbur’s history. It shocked him to learn such a fact about their leader, but it surely explained the missing puzzle in his head. 

“Tommy, it’s okay,” Wilbur’s voice softened as he spoke to him. “I’ll be alright. This is for me and Techno to resolve. But I appreciate you a lot, I cherish your care for me.”

He repressed this entire moment to the back of his head. 

“Alright,” Techno couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. “Uh, let’s keep exploring?”

“I-I think we should go back home,” Ranboo mumbled his opinion, fidgeting with his rock between his fingers. “Too much tension here.”

“I agree,” Tubbo vouched for his words. 

* * *

Even with everyone’s protests, Techno decided to search through the fortress remnant alone, returning merely minutes later with a skeleton skull in his head and five worthy pieces of diamond. When they asked him how he managed to fight the monster so quickly, he simply shrugged and passed the skull to Ranboo and Tubbo who observed it with utter fascination. Tommy and Wilbur said nothing on the matter, and kept walking in silence next to each other.

They took their time on the way back to L’Manberg, as nobody really wanted to return just yet. Techno and Ranboo practiced a bit of sword fighting, Tubbo cheered them on, and soon enough the initial tension seemed to dissipate (although, Tommy and Wilbur were far too quiet to achieve normality.) 

As much as Wilbur wished he was home right now, the thought of seeing Niki again upset him to the core. He was aware of how he hurt her, but he didn’t have the energy to fix it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. Something inside him prevented him from reaching out to her. Perhaps it was better to let some time pass, to ease the strain he had created between them. 

And Tommy knew she was hurting as well. He wasn’t particularly fond of it, but that might have been his bias to always stand on Wilbur’s side no matter what. He thought Wilbur deserved the space and distance he needed from Niki, and forcing him to talk to her just wasn’t the right approach. 

“Tommy, look what Ranboo can do!” Tubbo yelled towards the other boy, trying to build up some enthusiasm inside of him. He noticed that Tommy was slouching, eyeing the ground, and he thought he could use a boost.

Ranboo was almost effortlessly blocking every swing of Techno’s sword, buzzing with adrenaline and the pride he had for himself in that moment. And he knew Techno was proud as well, since he had taken him under his wing as a student. 

But Tommy couldn’t care less. His worry for Wilbur overtook. Out of sheer politeness, he gave Ranboo a small smile and a thumbs up, showing him encouragement. He couldn’t force himself to engage any further in their charades.

Soon enough, they were once again in L’Manberg, and Tommy heard Wilbur take a deep breath as they went through the door - god, he deeply wished everybody spent time in their homes instead of hanging around in Tubbo’s living room all the time.

Wilbur took off his combat boots, throwing them aside next to the fireplace along with his iron axe, and tiptoed towards his bedroom in his socks. Niki and Fundy were at the table, exchanging news and casual conversation accompanied by two warm cups of tea. She noticed Wilbur sneak around without a greeting, and decided that she didn’t like the way he insisted on rudely avoiding her. A ‘good evening’ wasn’t so hard to pronounce.

“Just a moment, Fundy, I need to talk to Will.” She took one more sip of tea and followed Wilbur into his room.

Without knocking, she opened the door in a soft movement, taking a careful step inside as she saw him aggressively rummage through the closet to find something to wear. He threw clothes on the floor, dug with no mercy, and ended up ripping one of his shirts in rage, using the cloth to dry his newfound tears. He couldn’t fucking take the stress of everything. It was getting to his head more than he had thought it would. Taking deep breaths so calm himself down, he buried his face in the sleeves of his sweater and leaned against the closet shelf.

Niki was sure he had no idea he was being observed. “Will?” She spoke in a gentle tone. 

He turned around with vigor at the mention of his name. “What are you doing here, I’m- I was-” he stumbled across his words, not knowing how to cover up the fact that he was amidst a breakdown.

“I just came to say hi.” She closed the door behind herself and leaned against it, hands behind her back. “I miss you.”

“I’m sorry, Niki, I really am, but-” He pressed his hands into his chest to stop it from hurting - not knowing whether pain arose from exhaustion or the fact he was flooded with guilt. “I’m not in a good mental state right now, I’d prefer to be alone.”

Niki sighed, gaze dropping to the floor. “You always say that. I’m beginning to think you don’t want to talk to me at all. And I’ve been worried about you, but you don’t even show up at breakfast.”

The last thing he wanted was to upset her even more. However, he couldn’t give a better explanation than the one he had already expressed, and somehow her pushing made him feel a tinge of resentment, hot and boiling around his heart. “What d’you want from me?” He raised his voice, something he always despised doing. “I’ve told you times and times again that I don’t feel well enough to talk, and it feels like you’re guilt-tripping me into it! And you know how deeply I experience guilt, it plagues me more than anything,” he lowered his tone near the end, refusing to shout his vulnerabilities out loud.

“You’re pushing everyone away, Will!” Niki yelled back. “L’Manberg was supposed to be a safe place for everybody, a new beginning of something beautiful, but I don’t think it can be that anymore. At least not with you as the leader.”

He was stumped at the words. “I’m trying my fucking best, alright?” He curled his fists, gripping the hem of his jumper. “It’s not my fault that Dream is terrorizing us. And I know everything I’ve done wrong, believe me, I replay it every night before I get my two hours of unrefreshing sleep, I replay it day and night and all I can hear in my head are things I’ve done wrong. I certainly don’t need you to shove them in my face.”

“Then why don’t you fix your mistakes? Your first one being that you don’t talk to the people who you are supposed to lead!”

“I can’t, simple as that! I fucking can’t!” Wilbur’s voice cracked, and he tried his hardest not to cry again - not in front of her. “It feels sickening sometimes.”

“Because you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions.” Niki crossed her arms, glaring at him with burning anger. “You think you can run away from your problems by hiding in your room. You think that it’s best to never speak to someone you’ve hurt ever again, because saying sorry or admitting a mistake is so hard to you. Honesty doesn’t come naturally to you, Will, and I don’t think I can take any more of your lies.”

Wilbur didn’t realize how much he fucked up. “Niki, I promise I’ll-”

“No, it’s okay,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “I was naïve to ever think I’d find family in you.”

And with that, she left him to think about every shitty thing he had ever done. As if his day couldn’t have gotten any worse, along with the traumatic flashbacks and constant pain. His body vibrated in devastation, and the feeling of his brain turning to cotton had returned. The more he stared at nothingness, the stronger the urge to hurt himself became. Just like he moved on autopilot, Wilbur took out a pocket-sized knife from his bedside drawer and pulled up the left sleeve of his sweater. “I’m not actually going to do this.” He deadpanned, staring at the exposed skin of his arm. It itched for him to carve into it. “I’ve been avoiding this for years. I’m not going to break it now.” The knife in his hand shook, and involuntarily he moved it until the blade was positioned against his arm - uncertain, dreadfully afraid. His heart climbed into his throat, and he felt nauseated enough to throw up. Tears pricked his eyes as they locked to the lack of distance between his knife and his arm. Shutting them tight and swallowing the lump in his throat, he slid the blade against the skin, pressing down so it drew blood. It stung, more than anything, and he kind of liked the feeling. So he sliced it again, and again, losing himself in the internal battle of guilt and the thoughts that clouded his rationality. 

Crimson pooled at his wrists. He rubbed it with his fingers and smeared the blood against his arm, not realizing how deep he had cut. It wouldn’t clot immediately. “Another thing I failed at,” he breathed out a laugh, and pulled down his sleeve without caring whether it would stain. He could always pass it off as a reopened battle wound, if anybody asked. 

All the lowest points in his past seemed surface level compared to the pit he found himself in right now. And he was sure it would get worse - he tended to dig when he got to bottom ground instead of picking himself back up. 

He dropped the knife onto his rage induced mess of clothes, and indulged in the blissful tingles of self-inflicted pain radiating from his left arm, pulsating along in the rhythm of his heart. 

The only problem was - he already craved more. 

“I saw all of that,” he heard a voice from the door, startling him so much more than Niki’s. Whipping his head around, he was faced with Tommy, the younger peeking his head through the door. “I saw you do that to yourself.”

Wilbur felt every last emotion cease from his soul, the emptiness freezing him in place. “Tommy, you shouldn’t have-”

“Please never do that again.” Tommy began to tremble, feeling his eyes become wet. He approached Wilbur, and without warning pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his waist. Wilbur didn’t know how to respond. For an excruciating second, he stood in shock, and it took him a while to process that he should have hugged back. So he did, feeling the younger bury his face in his chest with the same amount of comfort like when they were kids.

Except this time, it was Tommy who cried, for the first time in so long.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Wilbur replied after the initial surprise had calmed. “You shouldn’t have ever been exposed to something like that. I’m so sorry.”

“As long as you promise to never do it again,” Tommy hiccupped and hugged him tighter, afraid he’d lose him if he let go.

“I promise,” he lied. 

They stayed in the room together for a while, and Wilbur felt as if Tommy was truly the only person in this world who understood him - not only were they brothers, they were best friends. Tommy told him to sit down on the bed, Wilbur obeyed because of the obvious concern in his voice. He took the other’s arm into his hands and pulled up his sleeve, flinching at the sight of freshly cut scars littering the skin. Nonetheless, he made sure to disinfect Wilbur’s wounds and protect them with bandages, all in gentle and patient movements. Wilbur allowed him to do it.

When he wrapped gauze around the bloodied arm, Tommy slid Wilbur’s sleeve down and sat next to him. Neither of them spoke for a while. Each other’s presences brought them more comfort than anything they could utter.

This was exactly what Wilbur needed. Patience and understanding. No pushing, no guilt, nothing besides pure empathy and care. Tommy got him out of bed when he needed it the most, Tommy gave him wordless hugs and walked next to him when Wilbur wanted silent support, it was always Tommy who knew how to look after him.

But he shouldn’t have known how. Wilbur blamed himself for not being a good caretaker, and this only made his matters worse - it turned out that all this time, Tommy was his protector, and not the other way around.

He took away his brother’s childhood and replaced it with bloodshed and depression.

“I hope you’re feeling a bit better now,” Tommy broke the silence when he noticed Wilbur fall into a lull. 

“I am,” the older replied, tiredly rubbing his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, we’re brothers. You know I’ll always be there for you, prick.”

Wilbur’s heart ached as he leaned against Tommy one last time with a tiny smile on his face. 

Their moment of fondness was interrupted by a loud bang at the door, followed by Techno barging in less than a second before they could react. The noise made them jolt off the bed, and they exchanged an anxious glance.

“Wilbur, there’s someone outside and he has a message.” Techno’s unsettling voice cast a grim dread on the air. “Be quick.” He made a sharp point and disappeared into the hallway. 

Wilbur and Tommy followed right behind, running out into the front yard of Tubbo’s house to meet…

“George?” Tommy blinked, confused as he stared at the man - he looked ragged, breathless and sweaty as if he had run miles without stopping.

“Wilbur,” George looked towards the taller man, losing his words in hyperventilation. He pressed the palm of his hand against his sweaty forehead and caught a breath. “You have to hide, you and Tommy have to go away from here. Dream, he’s- he’s planning something, you don’t have much time-” the man rambled faster than the others could understand.

“Wait, slow down!” Wilbur stopped him. “Calm, George, what’s happening?”

“Dream is coming to kill Tommy and possibly burn L’Manberg to the ground,” George explained through heavy breaths. “They’re right on my trail, you need to run before they get here!”

“How can I trust you?” Wilbur questioned, although he didn’t think there was much of a dilemma here - if there was even a slight possibility of Tommy being in grave danger, he was ready to take him away. 

“Please, Wilbur, I- I have no correlation with Dream and his dumb nation anymore! I’m not on anyone’s side, I just want to protect my friends,” George gripped Wilbur by his sweater and begged for him to listen. “Protect Tommy. And the pink guy, he’s in danger as well. They will be here any minute!”

And just as George said those words, an arrow cut the air right next to Wilbur’s face. He dodged it and looked in the distance, spotting about fifteen soldiers, armour glowing from afar, with Dream as head of the battalion.

The clock was ticking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't mind me just projecting onto wilbur's character for the 100th time


	17. Arsonist's Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: mentions of self-harm, death, suicidal thoughts
> 
> (these themes will continue in further chapters as well, so this is the only warning i will make from now on until something changes)

Wilbur’s day just got a lot worse.

“Run, Tommy, run!” His scream tore through the thickness of the air as he dragged his younger brother by the hand away from the swirling storm of arrows chasing their footsteps. George followed them right behind, hiding himself from Dream while there was still a small chance that he could cover up another betrayal. They threw quick glances at the dust-filled battle scene in the back, noticing Techno being attacked by five SMP soldiers at once. He was skillful in the fight, and Ranboo joined to fight by his side. Tubbo was indecisive whether to help them or run after Tommy - his doubts were resolved once Tommy shouted for him from a distance and Tubbo began sprinting towards the other boy, uncovering their hiding location in the process for everyone to see. 

Sapnap and his army let no one outside the walls of L’Manberg, threatening them with imminent destruction if they took a single step forward. They weren't allowed to move, as Dream’s soldiers commanded them to stand in place and watch it all go down - if they disobeyed, they were promised to burn to death. Niki and Fundy stayed close to each other against the cobblestone wall, while Jack and Eret did the same on the other side of the plain. “If you dare make a single fucking move, I will kill you all.” Sapnap threatened. At the snap of his fingers, the SMP soldiers began pouring gunpowder all over the grass, creating a grey trail which led all the way to Tubbo’s house. “Make a single move,” he repeated, “and it goes up in flames. Do you understand?” The arsonist gave the L’Manberg citizens a final warning. They nodded in unison and let the dread settle inside their stomachs.

Dream locked his eyes on his acquired target. The brightness of Tommy’s red and white shirt, along with Tubbo’s lack of subtlety, gave away where they were hiding - it was difficult to conceal someone’s presence in plain flatland, so it only took Dream a minute or two to find them behind the sight tower. His eyes met Wilbur’s terrified ones, and he flashed him a grin of determination. 

“Wilbur!” He chuckled, twirling his fingers around the handle of his sword. Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo pressed their bodies together, thinking if they believed hard enough, this wouldn’t be real. They had no weapons, no time to grab them when George informed them about what was about to happen. He was a bit late, to Wilbur’s utter dismay. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

“Tommy, get as far away from here,” Wilbur grasped Tommy by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes with a sad gaze, whispering towards him. Tommy began to sneak away behind Wilbur’s back, only to be interrupted by Dream’s scolding tone. He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.

“I wouldn’t run if I were you,” Dream smiled and, in a swift move, gripped Tommy around the waist and pressed the blade of his sword against his throat. “You two make a move and he’s dead.”

Tubbo felt his throat tighten at the words. He watched Tommy squirm in Dream’s grip, the metal cutting off his airflow just enough to make it hard to breathe. but not enough to kill him. It was slow and torturous, and all he could do was hope that Dream wouldn’t let him die this way. He had faith in Tommy to survive.

“Just kill me! Kill me instead of taking out your anger on the fucking children,” Wilbur shouted in desperation, quivering underneath Dream’s looming gaze. “Don’t hurt anybody else.” He muttered, gazing at his feet.

“I knew you’d say that.” Dream only tightened his firm hold on Tommy. “Because you don’t care about death, you want to protect who you love. The thing is, Wilbur, you don’t have control in this world. You can’t choose who lives, and who dies. But I can.”

“Is that what it’s all about?” Wilbur’s voice trembled, on the verge of crying as he felt Tubbo grip his sleeve for comfort. “You don’t care about L’Manberg, you just need someone to torture and control.”

Dream laughed under his breath, and when Tommy started thrashing his limbs around to escape him, he pressed the blade further into his throat until fear forced him to give up. Tommy had no choice but to stop fighting and accept it. His fate was fragile, in the hands of a sadist. 

Dream noticed Sapnap was approaching them, hearing his footsteps on the ground less than a few meters behind, so he remained quiet and waited for him to join. 

Sapnap wordlessly stood next to Dream with a smug grin on his face. 

“Wilbur, get on your knees and put your hands in the air.” Dream ordered the man. 

“Why?” The other frightfully asked, glancing from Dream to Tommy and back.

“Don’t test me and do as I say.” He responded in a calm tone, as if he was without a single care in the world.

Wilbur didn’t want to take the risk of losing Tommy, even at the cost of his pride. Shame glistened behind his glassy eyes as he knelt onto the grass, raising his aching arms above his head. He blankly stared at the ground, vision blurred, lost in a derealized haze. The sleeves of his sweater slid down to reveal bandages soaked in fresh blood from the self-inflicted wounds. “Just don’t hurt the kids.” He whispered, knowing Tubbo and Tommy were watching it all go down. Vibrating tremors of muscles in his arms made it nearly impossible to keep them up. In a sharp motion, Sapnap grabbed his wrists, and pain electrocuted Wilbur’s body - it shot up from the bottom of his spine to the top of his head, making him cry out and shut his eyes tight. A metal click resonated through his ears, and there was a new sudden coldness against his skin. Sapnap pulled him up from the ground and held his hands behind his back, while Dream still had Tommy in his grip. 

Tubbo observed from the sidelines, mentally preparing himself to grieve over his best friends before he even lost them. He was used to grief anyway. This wasn’t the first person whose execution he would witness.

“I hope you realize my mind isn’t going to change no matter how much you beg,” Dream hummed. “I only let Sapnap handcuff you so you had to watch Tommy die, that’s all. Not because I wanted to kill you.”

Wilbur paled at the words. He could swear his breathing stopped, and every last trace of anything with resemblance to a heartbeat abandoned his body. “How- how could his death ever benefit you?” He managed to push a choked-out sentence out of his mouth. “This country is yours if you want it. I’m ready to give it all in return for my brother’s life.”

“It’s interesting to watch you suffer. And I want to teach you to never,  _ ever  _ mess with a sadist.” A smirk grew on Dream’s face, filled with pure mockery. “You think I cared about you living on my territory? You think this is a battle for conquering of land? All of that is an excuse! An excuse to see you fucked up under my control. I chose you because you were the perfect victim, nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. I don’t give a  _ fuck  _ about L’Manberg, okay? The only thing I care about is the power I have over you. I could kill Tommy this very fucking second, and that’s the thrill of it! There’s nothing else to it - no political standpoint you can defend it from. I know it’s pure evil, and I enjoy it. You fucked up by bringing your friends into it, you exposed them to this suffering because  _ you’re _ the one who craves power, and now you get to watch them die because of your greed.” 

“Dream, I’ll do whatever it takes to save Tommy,” Wilbur trembled in Sapnap’s hold, unable to stop a bout of tears from salting his lips. “Please, don’t hurt my brother.” He tried to act collected, but it was becoming more obvious that he was losing it with each second. 

“Alright,” Dream quirked an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Absolutely,” Wilbur pleaded. 

“Pretty sure you’re going to regret that in a second,” the sadistic man laughed through his nose, biting his tongue in amusement. He released Tommy and let the boy stumble on his shaky legs.

Tommy found himself falling onto the ground as he didn’t expect to be let go, shivering in complete terror as he stared at his handcuffed, helpless brother in tears and his best friend who stood frozen in place from the trauma he recalled. He brushed off the dirt as he stood up and hugged Tubbo with a passion, nearly jumping at him. Tubbo took a second to realize what was happening, and he lightly hugged back in a confused manner. He shut off his feelings, for it was the only way he could deal with the present. “Run,” he heard Tommy whisper in his ear, but couldn’t care to react. The apathetic daze dried out his brain. 

“Wilbur,” Dream continued, clasping the palms of his hands together. “Kill Tubbo in exchange for Tommy’s life.”

“What?” Tommy interjected before anyone could react. “That’s not fucking happening!”

Wilbur let the tears drench his face, neglectful of their bitterness, and kept a firm glare locked to Dream’s eyes. “Okay.” He breathed. “I’ll do it.”

“Wilbur, what?!” His brother shouted, but Wilbur just shot him a knowing look. Tommy hoped he had a plan, otherwise this was unacceptable. 

Tubbo, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be too bothered by the threat of death. He gave Tommy a glance of confusion and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s okay, Tommy.” 

“No, it’s not! How can you just accept it?!"

With a nod of approval from Dream, Sapnap released Wilbur’s bruised wrists from the handcuffs and handed him his sword, still holding him by the arm. The second Wilbur got hold of the weapon, he fought out of Sapnap’s grip, tearing himself away from the other’s body and jabbing the blade into his side. Sapnap, not expecting the sudden disobedience, let out a cry of pain and put his hand over the raw, open wound. Dream seemed to be phased by shock for a second, his eyes following Wilbur’s every tiniest movement.

“Run,” Wilbur said to Tommy, and the younger grabbed Tubbo by his hand before darting away after his brother - feet stomping on the ground until the vibrations made them blind, and the deafening breathlessness rang in their ears. Where they were running, that was unknown, but all they knew was that they couldn’t allow Dream to mercilessly take their innocent lives. Darting away from Dream and an injured Sapnap, they found Techno and Ranboo, who were stuck in tireless combat against five SMP soldiers. Wilbur jumped at them from the back and dragged Techno away from them by the arm. Without a verbal explanation, Techno knew it was time to run, and Ranboo followed right behind, zero hesitation. It was a question of how much longer they would have been able to fight, so this rescue was heaven sent. Techno was just surprised that Wilbur was the one yanking him away from danger. 

They ran with no intent to stop, but Dream didn’t feel like chasing them. He watched their fearful steps dash across the plains and only had one thought in mind. “Sapnap,” he spoke to his wounded friend. “Hand me a matchbox.” He pursed his lips and held out the palm of his hand. Sapnap struggled to obey as the side of his body hurt like hell, but he managed to pull out the requested item from his back pocket. “Thank you.” Dream said as he took it. 

He called for his soldiers, the ones who fought Techno, and gestured for them to follow him towards the walls of L’Manberg. One slow step after another, he approached the entrance. “Guard it so no one can leave.” The calmness of his voice was unnerving. He averted his gaze towards the gunpowder splayed across the grass, and in a simple motion he scraped a match on the side of the box, throwing it into the dust.

And it all went up in flames.

A golden blaze consumed all that L’Manberg ever was. The heat, brimming with anger, radiated through the walls as it ate up the people, the city, and its short-lived history. It rose from the ground to the limit of the sky - no end and no beginning, just orange, red, yellow and a devastating smoke. It roared louder to overpower the screams of the citizens lost within the fire, and the soldiers who paid for war. 

Wilbur stopped to look behind. His eyes caught the sight of everything he had worked for disappearing right in front of him, swallowed by ash and dust and brought down to scorched earth. “Oh, god.” A single mutter escaped him. He wished he could burn the memory from his brain.

“L’Manberg is gone,” Techno saluted. “Had a good run.”

“Niki was in there.” Wilbur cried through the realization, “I lost her to the fire. And Eret, and Fundy, and Jack, they- they were all forced to stay inside the walls.” Guilt chipped away at his insides knowing that his last exchange with Niki was an argument, and his fault. He would never feel her warm embrace again, never hear the softness of his voice startle him from behind, she would never pressure him to eat or drink or communicate ever again. Every time he got angry at her for it... Wasn't real any longer. As if he were never mad in the first place. It was all replaced by a suffocating feeling of remorse and nostalgia. 

“My childhood home,” Tubbo mumbled, wide eyes gaping at the raging flames licking away the place he grew up in, erasing his life - his paintings, his every last memory… All gone.

They had lost everything, past the point of no return. The shock was too grand to comprehend, and a new burning grief made itself a home inside their guts. 

Dream found peace in the flames. He was satisfied with the outcome of today, even at the cost of sacrificing some of his soldiers who died in the fire as they kept the L’Manberg citizens from escaping. 

He advanced towards the survivors and got into Wilbur’s face, high and mighty with his first victory against the other man. “Your unfinished symphony will forever-be-unfinished.” He emphasized each word, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “It’s over, Wilbur. I won.”

“Won what? A bunch of burnt grass?” Tommy spat, holding Tubbo by the hand.

Dream simply chuckled and gave Tommy a condescending smile. “I hope I see you again soon, as friends.” He looked back up towards Wilbur. “We could grab a drink sometime.” He laughed, patting him on the shoulder, and Wilbur felt a strong urge to kill him on the spot.

But he couldn’t.

“I’d tell you that you’re a monster and a sadist, but you obviously know it already,” Wilbur’s throat was hoarse from crying, and begging, and existing. His puffy eyes itched from one too many spilt tears. “So I just want to know whether this is truly the end. I don’t- I can’t take this any longer.”

“For now it is,” Dream mused. 

Somehow that answer hurt more than any other.

They were left alone with only the stench of smoke in their nostrils to remind them of their loss, as the Dream SMP disappeared from the Farmlands, far away from their field of view. Dream owned this land now, if he wanted it. He got what he promised to his people, and he got the suffering he craved to inflict.

Acidic, bitter drops of rain began to drop down from the sky. It was cold, and Wilbur only noticed its iciness as a contrast to the burning fire in his stomach. It turned L’Manberg’s ashes into sodden mud, and soaked their skin to the bone. Ranboo felt its sizzle on his hands, and Techno wrapped him in his coat so the drops wouldn’t sting. Tommy embraced a stoic Tubbo into a hug, and the five watched the end of days behind the seeping curtain of fog and rain.

“Well, where to now?” Ranboo sighed. 

“I know a place.” Techno looked at his student. “We could all go to my home in the north.”

“What do you say, Wilbur?” Tommy pulled his sleeve and asked, voice broken and detached just like his whole being.

Wilbur thought about it all. The smoke fogged his mind, more than before, and the strongest urge on his brain was to carve into his skin until there was no place for another scar. He felt worthless, furious at the Universe for dealing him the worst cards, for gifting him the misfortune of existing in these conditions. Nothing mattered anymore. His life was a waste, a fucking waste of time, and he couldn’t pretend to hold onto an artificial will to go on. It would never get better, not for him. He had lost all hope. Even if he got out of here, the ghosts of his past and the wounds on his soul would haunt him until the day he died. 

So what was the point in any of this anymore? 

“Okay,” he replied, breaking his daze. “Let’s go to Techno’s."

As if it made any difference to him.

His only regret was not burning away along with L’Manberg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone interested, these songs fit each character:  
> dream: a sadness runs through him - the hoosiers  
> wilbur: alibis - marianas trench // save me - globus  
> tommy: fight song - rachel platten  
> techno: my blood - twenty one pilots  
> george: echoes of you - marianas trench  
> :)


	18. Losing Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: description of sensory overload

George watched everything go down in hiding. He observed as Dream threatened Tommy with death and forced Wilbur on his knees, and he saw him take out a match to light up the gunpowder and give birth to the consuming fire. But he never stopped him - he fought his internal battle. Perhaps the death of L’Manberg was a good thing, he thought, as it held the hope of bringing peace to the factions. There could be no war if there was no nation to fight for. And all George wanted was peace, even if it meant the sacrifice of a few lives. However, when he stepped inside the walls and the ashes of the decrepit city crackled beneath his boots, he wasn’t sure if he had made the right choice to let it happen. 

L’Manberg’s withered earth soaked up the rain until it all turned to mud. Turquoise clouds loomed above the walls. George walked around to take in what was lost. A feeling of melancholic calmness lingered in the air, and he breathed in to taste the smoke. The bleakness of the atmosphere put a heavy weight on his shoulders. He couldn’t help but reminisce over the first days of this city - Tommy and Wilbur excitedly thinking of the name, gathering people to join them, building the walls with Fundy, helping everybody train for the dawn of war… A part of him hoped to come back and fight on L’Manberg’s side again someday. 

And now it was late. He was too late.

He stumbled across Niki’s and Fundy’s lifeless bodies pressed next to each other in the dirt, cinder-coloured from the dust that had fallen upon them. They died together. Parts of their skin were burnt, but they seemed to die from suffocating in the smoke rather than the fire itself, which made George exhale in relief. 

Against the wall, corpses of Dream SMP soldiers lay flat on the ground. Their once glowing armour and weapons lost its shine in the flames, and their faces were completely void of colour. George recognized Puffy, a young knight who had always battled with the utmost courage and absolute loyalty. She deserved better than to be sacrificed by Dream after all she had done for him. He crouched down at her side and, with a burdened heart, placed his hand on her blistered cheek. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, a single tear rolling down to his lips. “You did so well for your nation… Even though- even though you shouldn’t have. You stuck by your values and died for your leader like the brave soldier you were.” 

On the other side of the dead city, he spotted two figures, one kneeling in the damp grass leaning over a body. He softly approached them, a spark of excitement in his chest knowing that there was a survivor. The closer he got, the less blurry the person was to his near-sighted vision. “Jack?” He asked in surprise. “You’re alive!”

Jack took his time to respond. He moved his gaze up in a lethargic motion, teary eyes meeting George’s equally saddened ones. “I wasn’t able to save him in time,” he choked out and placed his hand on the burnt body in front of him - Eret’s body. His childhood best friend was dead. “I’m going to kill Wilbur. He is the fucking reason I lost my friend. If we hadn’t joined L’Manberg-” his voice cracked, interrupting himself. He buried his face in Eret’s static chest and hoped to feel a breath arise. His hope was futile.

George lowered himself on the ground next to Jack and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. “This is all Dream’s fault, nobody else’s. Focus your anger where it belongs and you can get your revenge.”

“No!” Jack shouted, pushing George’s arm away. “Wilbur promised us a home, and safety, and a sense of family… We all believed that L’Manberg was a brilliant idea, the start of something great, and what did we get? A constant threat of war and eventual death in a fucking fire! We followed his dream and he fucked everything up! I have all rights to be angry at that man, and you can’t tell me the contrary.” His eyes pierced George’s skin with a ferocious rage. “The only reason I survived was because I managed to brew a potion of fire resistance. And when I realized it worked, I wanted to save everybody else, but I was too late. Fundy and Niki were too far away, and I couldn’t save Eret.”

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” George stared at the ground in shame. 

“Don’t be. Just go.” Jack cut him off sternly through a sob. “You’re at fault for this as well.”

“I know.” 

“You betrayed us in the battle and hid until the end. In both battles.”

“I know.” George repeated, with a little more exasperation in his tone. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” Jack spat out.

“I’m so- I mean, I’ll shut up now.” 

“Just fucking go already!” The grieving man cried out, and George flinched at the way he raised his voice. 

“Okay.” He put his hand against the cobblestone wall and pulled himself up from the ground, slowly walking away from Jack and the now deceased Eret. As he began to walk towards the exit, he kept turning his head around to take quick glimpses of what he was forced to leave behind. 

Alone once again. 

As if he had any other choice, he headed back  _ home  _ towards the Dream SMP lands, utterly unenthusiastic and low on energy from all the running he had previously done. It was pointless, he didn’t run fast enough. His emotions were torn, as always, and he had no idea what was right and what was wrong. To him, everything was in a grey area. He saw all the pros and cons, and sometimes that frustrated him to the core, because if everything was grey, there was no way to differentiate between right and wrong. 

But he knew one thing - Dream was in the wrong. Nothing could excuse his sadism, and he said it himself. It made George painfully nauseous to know that Dream was aware of his evil nature, but he chose to ignore it and even pursue it. That man was supposed to be his best friend. He stood for that nation for years and years. No- he used to be the  _ king  _ of that bloodthirsty nation. 

With a new sense of horror turning his stomach upside down, he spent the night returning to his cottage house. He fought a few zombies on the way, slicing them with apathy, and avoided a couple of endermen. It didn’t take him long to realize how close he was to the place where he met Wilbur for the first time - the edge of the forest where the dark oak met the taiga. 

His brain never stopped replaying that image of Wilbur lying in the sweet berry bush, hiding behind a broken shield and a tiny backpack, unable to stand up and pleading for George not to hurt him. George thought he was a random villager with zero combat and orientation skills. He took him back home to Logstedshire - and found out Tommy and Wilbur lived on Dream SMP territory.

If George hadn’t told Dream about their base, none of this would have happened. 

He wondered how it would go down if he had kept it a secret.

_ “Wait, this is where you live?” George points to Tommy’s tent, following Wilbur to the entrance of Logstedshire. Wilbur nods. “And exactly how long have you been here? _

_ Wilbur hums to himself, in thought, eyes glancing upwards as he calculates his answer. “About six months, maybe more.” _

_ George turns to him with a look of mixed emotions. “You built your base on our territory. This is the west border of the Dream SMP. I don’t know how you haven’t been spotted yet, but you technically aren’t allowed to be here. I’m not going to tell anyone about it, but the others might find you. It’s best you leave.” _

_ “We can’t leave!” Wilbur protests, panic in his voice along with a hint of desperation. _

He jolted from the memory and shook his head, continuing to walk through the dark oak forest, too close to Logstedshire for his own liking.

But the memories kept flashing, despite his refusal to remember.

_ Tommy starts running towards Wilbur, straight into his arms for a tight hug. Their bodies collide at a high velocity, and Wilbur almost falls backwards into the grass. _

_ “Wilbur, you’re alive!” The boy wraps his arms around his brother and cries out. “You were gone for so long!” _

George ran his fingers through his hair and let his hands rest on his head for a moment, shutting his eyes in hopes of feeling less, seeing less, mentally running away from the memories. He had caused so much pain to two innocent people because of his personal problems and battles with loyalty. 

“I have to keep walking,” he muttered to remind himself of where he was, and took the route which allowed him to fully avoid coming in contact with Logstedshire. 

In this excruciating tempo, he was home by sunrise. 

The soft rays of dawn graced his house as he opened the wooden door with a click, light flickering against his windows. He threw his axe aside without caring whether it would cut into the floor. Tired, and ready to surrender to fourteen hours of deep sleep, he stepped inside his tiny bedroom.

“Welcome home.” A terror-inducing chillness spoke from the bed. 

“Dream?” George stopped in shock, eyes locked to Dream’s. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. I thought you’d never come back,” he said, a fake sadness dripping from his tongue. “George…” He chuckled. 

“Yes…?” The shorter man felt his throat close in. 

“I know you snuck out to warn L’Manberg.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Another lost home. At this rate, it was going to become inevitable for Wilbur and Tommy to never have a stable place to stay. A regular Tuesday went from hanging out by the tent to chaos and bloodshed in only a little over a month. To be fair, the death of L’Manberg was bound to happen one day or the other, and Techno claimed this was for the best. If it had become a government, he’d have to be the one to destroy it, and he really didn’t want to make Wilbur dislike him more than he already did. Instead, he was able to take them to his Arctic house, back in the snowy tundra. 

And by gods, it was fucking freezing.

Wilbur shivered underneath his delicate, almost transparent sweater, utterly inappropriate for the chilling bites of Arctic winds under his skin. His boots disappeared in the snow with each dragged-out step, and if it wasn’t for his height, he’d be waist-deep in white sheets of cold, or falling on his knees like Tommy and Tubbo. The snow crunched beneath his feet, and the calming sensation served as a decent distraction from the spiraling depressive thoughts in his mind that were rapidly getting out of hand. 

They had been travelling for days, across the river Prime, through the Rapids and the Badlands, and they were met with the fortune of not running into anybody. Techno was glad, as he knew he’d have to pay tolls to Bad for bringing four people on his territory without permission. But he regretted not meeting Karl. They were in dire need of more winter coats and historical tales. 

This was their last day before they’d finally arrive at Techno's faraway home in desolation. 

“I’m hungry,” Tubbo complained, rubbing his shoulders to create a bit of warmth through friction. His unruly hair was adorned with glistening snow crystals, and he fluffed it with his fingers only to feel the ice on his palms. 

“Here,” Techno reached inside his pocket, “Have a carrot.” He threw it towards the boy, and Tubbo somehow managed to catch it with his ungraceful fingers. 

“Can I have one too?” Tommy piped in, his voice gruff from the cold, and Techno pulled another one from his coat. 

“I just wonder how this man keeps everything in his pockets.” Ranboo laughed. “Are they bigger on the inside?” He became a little more comfortable contributing to conversations, courtesy of Tubbo and Techno who provided him with constant reassurance that he wouldn’t be judged for what he said.

“Just a bit of witchcraft, not a big deal,” Techno shrugged with a smile.

“Oh, tell me about it!” Tubbo and Ranboo said almost in unison.

The splintery sound of chatter combined with Tubbo and Tommy’s eating noises and the silky breeze crawling against his skin made Wilbur’s brain go into overdrive, stretching it like gum and pulling it in every direction until everything became a thousand times louder and banged against his aching skull. Every word Techno and Ranboo exchanged pierced his chest. The faint rays of morning winter sunshine suddenly flashed his eyes like neon lights, and somehow it turned the volume up in his mind. He had a strong urge to cover his ears. His breaths became heavier, quicker, and the intense arrhythmical beating of his strained heart climbed up his throat to block his breathing. It was all too much, and he just wanted them to stop talking so his skin would stop feeling like nails on a chalkboard. He grit his teeth and stopped in his track, shutting his eyes tight and bringing the palms of his hands over his ears.

“...and then I found this library-”

“Stop!” Wilbur cried out, gaining everybody’s attention in a matter of milliseconds. 

Techno cut his sentence short and turned his gaze towards the brunet. “Uh, you alright?”

“Just stop talking, please,” he whispered as he let choked-out breaths create puffs of fog in front of his face. “I can’t handle the noises.”

Tommy wordlessly put out his hand to signal the others to step away from Wilbur, as he was the only one who knew what was going on. “Be quiet,” he muttered towards his friends. 

“So do we just keep wa-” Techno began to ask. Tommy interrupted him before he could finish.

“I said quiet,” His voice was near silent, but he seemed to have sent the message through a stern tone as Techno put his palms up and shut his mouth. 

The cold reminded Wilbur of the past. He tried to fight it, push the memories aside and hide them in the back of his head but he couldn’t. It overpowered him, and it became too real, dragging him away from this Universe into another one filled with nightmares from his childhood. His vision turned to mist, and he had no choice but to surrender to the haze.

_ “No, no, wait, please, no, don’t do this!” Wilbur pleads into the nothingness as the door slams shut in his face, a single click of the key making him locked outside in the snow. He bangs his hands on the door, shouting through shivers, to no avail. “Please, it’s so cold!”  _

_ He gives up on begging shortly after, as he knows no one is coming for him. Sliding down to the ground, he curls up to his knees and holds his thin coat tight against his sweater. His entire body trembles in pain, less from the bruises he received and more from the chilling winter air cutting his skin. _

_ It doesn’t take long for frostbite to turn his fingers to red, and he can barely move his hands from how numb they are. The back of his neck is infested with a viscous cold - and it aches. His cheeks are hurting just as much, but the most devastating part is how hard breathing has become. The chronic feeling of sand in his lungs is going on a fieldtrip. Each time he breathes in, it feels like suffocation.  _

_ The cold is making him tired. And so are his thoughts, more accurately the thoughts planted into his head by his father. Useless, worthless piece of shit, who deserves to die. An unwanted mistake, product of lies and deceit. That’s all he is. He doesn’t deserve to have a home, or the warmth and safety of a fireplace on winter days.  _

_ Fifteen years on this planet, fifteen years of being hated and neglected and mistreated and hurt until he can’t stand to catch a glimpse of his own reflection. When does it end? _

_ He’s about to doze off from the fatigue, but his oncoming slumber is interrupted by creaking of the door. “Wilbur, are you okay?” Tommy’s voice makes him jump. _

_ He looks up with a certain sadness coursing through him. "I'm so cold." _

_ Tommy notices the frozen tears on his face, and it makes him nauseous to know his brother had to cry again. “You need to get back inside,” He extends his arm and waits for Wilbur to take his hand, “before dad wakes up. He’s having a nap right now. You’re safe.” _

_ “Are- are you sure?” Wilbur hesitates.  _

_ “Yes.” Tommy helps him stand up and Wilbur falters, his vision fading to black for a moment before he regains it through a sea of colourful shapes. He pulls him inside, and closes the door behind them in a soft manner so he wouldn’t wake up their father. This has become a routine - Tommy taking care of his brother despite being six years younger than him, Tommy helping Wilbur calm down from panic attacks and comforting him after whatever new traumatic memory Phil inflicts on him... _

_ The things Tommy would give for Wilbur to be happy, and for Phil to be a good father. And for Techno to start caring, as he was the older one who could provide Wilbur with a lot more care than a nine-year-old boy. But no, Techno wakes up every day with a little more apathy on his face. He’s the one who pushed Wilbur out in the cold at Phil’s command.  _

_ Wilbur slips off his coat and follows him into their bedroom. Tommy helps wrap him up in a bunch of blankets and chuckles when he throws one over his face. Somehow, that makes Wilbur want to cry even more. He doesn’t deserve this care. He wants to tell Tommy to stop and leave him alone, but he can’t. Tommy sits down on the bed next to him, and presses against his side for comfort, leaning his head against Wilbur’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that you feel sad, Wilbur. I wish I could help.” _

_ “You shouldn’t have to do all of this for me,” Wilbur says, a glint of guilt on his tongue. “One day I’ll get us out of here, alright? We’ll have a better life than we could ever have here.” _

_ “That’s a good idea,” Tommy mumbles.  _

_ “I’ll get us out of here.” _

That final thought served as a slap to the face which threw Wilbur back into reality. It crashed down on him like shards of broken glass - everything that had happened to them was no one’s fault but his. 

And he had known that already, but it finally dawned on him clearer than ever before. He was never Tommy’s protector. It had always been the other way around. He was the reason Tommy kept losing homes, one after another, and he was nothing but a nuisance to everyone around him - his sickness kept him bedridden, his mental suffering started seeping out of his brain to the outside world poisoning his surroundings, and all of his decisions were mistakes. His father was right calling him a selfish piece of shit. Phil was right. Wilbur was a waste of space. And he couldn't keep lying to himself that this life was better than what they had with Phil. 

Tommy was better off without him, and Wilbur wasn't sure for how much longer he was capable of being a burden.


	19. Glowing Regards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS!!! PLEASE READ!!!  
> suicide, self-harm, psychosis (hallucinations), hypothermia, implied death, graphic descriptions

Wilbur stared at his tired reflection in the obsidian mirror in Techno’s bathroom. The palms of his hands pressed into the edges of the tall, metal trough - a makeshift sink, unpolished and sharp enough to cut through his skin as he held eye contact with himself. The scar Sapnap had inflicted on his face all these weeks ago hadn’t faded, but it morphed into a swollen pink line stretching across the bridge of his nose. The dark purple circles under his eyes seemed heavy enough to pull his head to the ground. He gently ran his fingers over his puffy cheeks and through his hair, letting out a sharp breath. “Fuck.” He whispered, and felt tears well up inside his eyes again, for the millionth time. Everything was crashing down on him all at once, from the flashbacks to the present, and he wasn’t sure which was worse anymore. As days went by, his mind spiraled further down into a galaxy full of sickening urges, thoughts of death and one wish. To escape this reality. It was a gradual wave building up in his chest for days and days until his lungs filled with fluid and he could no longer breathe, choking on his misery and begging for it to be over quickly and painlessly. He felt like a fourteen-year-old again, writing sad poetry and playing desolation songs on his guitar. But he was an adult now. Facing bigger problems than a toxic household. He was trapped in a merciless world where nothing was fair, and all was war. His poisoned brain ached to throw up the words on a page, but his diary was lost in the flames along with everything else in L’Manberg. Everything he had written in over two years was gone as if it never existed. Existence, what a fragile little thing. 

L’Manberg. A defensive city he created to protect Tommy and Tubbo from danger. The most foolish thing he had ever done. He built Tubbo’s house into a fortification and pushed literal children on the frontlines of a battlefield, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to hand a twelve-year-old a sword and hope for the best. Maybe Dream was right, maybe he did it to feel empowered, to feel a false sense of control over something. If that was true, then he was the most selfish person to ever walk this earth. Exposing his younger brother, his biggest treasure, to such a threat of death. Actually, he was selfish from the very beginning! 

He let out a bitter laugh at the thought, a laugh brimming with self-loathing, and let his clenched fist collide with the hard material of the mirror. Pain shot through his wrist and he hissed at the sensation. “Selfish, destructive fuck,” he said through gritted teeth. “I wanted to stay alive for Tommy, but Tommy doesn’t need me. He’s better off without me. I was so angry at Techno for being a bastard but I failed to recognize that I am so, so much worse,” the tears he had tried to repress began to hysterically spill in a perpetual stream down his colourless face. “He’s better off without me,” he repeated in a breathy voice as his heartbeat sped up. 

Broken beyond repair was how he’d describe himself, both his body and mind. He had been beaten and bruised and abused far too many times, enough to lose count, and it took a devastating toll on his health to the point where he believed he would never be able to feel happiness. That emotion was foreign to him. He knew pain, that one was overly familiar. Not to mention the chronic pain igniting his bones every morning when he woke up. To Wilbur, there was no way to come back from this. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to come back from it, in all honesty. 

There was a time when he could bear so much on his chest, but now every breath took away half his willpower. “I was never in control,” he mumbled under his breath, leaning further against the trough and catching a glimpse of his reflection in the thin layer of water at the bottom of the metal sink. “And my life never meant a thing. It never will, actually,” the words kept spilling from his tongue like a polluted ocean of oil, dark and acetic. “If I were to die- if I were to die  _ now _ … No one would want me back.”

The fog in his brain grew like a disease, infesting every corner and every neuron until there was no place for a single rational thought - it led him to insanity. His body trembled with fervor as he reached inside a cupboard and grabbed a pocket-sized knife, sharpened to perfection by Techno. He pulled up his left sleeve above his elbow and cut up the bandages which protected his injuries, leaving his scarred skin exposed. Nausea grew in his stomach and rose up to his throat at the thought of inflicting more pain, but somewhere along the way he started to deserve it. So he slashed the space in-between his scars and let more blood flow down his arm, eyes pierced to each drop sliding off and staining the sink. He kept cutting and cutting until there was no clear skin left to carve into. With each new slice he felt more numb. It stopped hurting, the ache replaced with a pulsating vibration as he traced the crimson with his fingers and pressed the open wounds together so more blood could escape them. It took away the attention from the dismal thoughts stifling his throat. “It’s what I deserve,” he said somberly. “It’s what I deserve, it’s what I deserve,” unaware, he repeated the words like a mantra until the lightheadedness overtook and the nausea finally stopped him from speaking. He leaned over the sink and dry-coughed, heaving but unable to throw up. His vision blurred even more and there was nothing left in his brain besides dreadful agony and desperation. He was reaching his limit. 

This was not how he wanted to die. Better said,  _ deserved to.  _ It wasn’t painful enough, for all he had done and everybody he’d harmed. Niki, Fundy, Jack, Eret, Tommy, Tubbo, George, even Techno… The list of people he had hurt was never-ending.

And he planned to die in a bathroom, drenched in his own blood, as if that was enough?

“I need to go outside,” he said, gagging on his own words. Dropping the crimson-stained knife on the floor, he stumbled out of the bathroom and closed the door behind himself, lucky that everybody was asleep at these ungodly hours so he had the peace to be undisturbed. He pulled down his sleeve over the blood which still ran, and it smeared against his sweater in an instant, soaking through the fabric. He didn’t seem to care. “I need to go outside,” he repeated as his hand grabbed onto the door handle and pushed it open. 

As soon as the freezing Arctic air slapped him across the face, a shiver shot up his spine into his shoulders. He darted back into the living room and grabbed a coat, when a thought suddenly hit his head - a message.

He had to leave a message. If this was going to be his last action on this cursed planet, he couldn’t let it be selfish like his other ones. In an impatient, shivering frenzy of movements, he dug out a piece of paper from a drawer and snatched Techno’s ink and quill standing on the counter. Pulling out a chair and only sitting at the living room table with half of his body, he dipped the tip of the quill into the blotchy ink and began to write. Running out of time.

_ I’ve gone out in the cold. Don’t look for me, please don’t look for me. Don’t try to look for me.  _

_ By the time you find this, I’ll be gone. The me you’ve known - the selfish, overly emotional, inconsolable me… Will be dead. And before you get sad (if you do), remember it’s for the best. Your lives without mine in it will become a thousand times better. So this is a good thing. My death, I mean. As dull and depressing as it may sound.  _

_ I didn’t want to leave without a trace. I didn’t want to confuse you. But I also wanted to let you know that I appreciate all you’ve done for me, which is mainly why I’m writing this. _

_ Tommy, you’re the kindest person I know. You’ve helped me more than anybody, and you have been by my side through the darkest moments. So thank you for that, truly, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you. Please don’t miss me when I’m gone. Please, please don’t miss me. I messed your life up, and exposed you to death and destruction. Remember that, when you start to miss me (if you do). Remember how much I messed everything up, and then you won’t miss me anymore. I believe in that. _

_ Tubbo, thank you for taking us in when we were homeless. I am sorry for turning your home into a battlefield, and for being the reason why your childhood home went up in flames. I’m sure you won’t miss me, I’ve brought you nothing but pain in this life. I’m sorry. _

_ Ranboo, keep training and fighting and tell Techno to take good care of you. You’ve got incredible potential, so don’t waste it. You’re one child I didn’t mess up, thankfully. Keep going. _

_ And Techno…  _

_ I forgive you. _

_ Glowing regards, _

_ Wilbur.  _

After he was satisfied with what he had written, he placed the bottle of ink on top of the paper and made his way to the door, taking one deep breath - inhale, and exhale - before stepping outside in the burning cold, and closing the door behind himself. 

“Soon.” He laughed. “It’s all over soon. No more suffering.”

The wind carried an abundance of snowflakes into his face, and there seemed to be a snowstorm on the way. Perfect for masking his traces so he wouldn’t be found. He walked into the snow and let his feet carry him into the distant whiteness, into the endless sheets of snow deep enough to get lost in it forever and freeze alive. His tears, previously warm and salty, turned to ice against his lips. The darkness of the night led him into nothingness. He had resided in this area for a week, and that wasn’t nearly enough to learn where each path led. So he trusted his gut and headed north? Or south? 

As if it mattered. Nothing was real anyway, judging by the distortion on his vision and the colours that danced around his eyes. It made him giggle, the redness of the spinning stars and squiggles. It flashed from red to neon blue, but the blue came in mesmerizing waves. And the waves reminded him to keep walking. So he did. The cold air seeped through his skin and into his bones, finally putting out their endless fire. There was no more pain, just a blank feeling of emptiness, as if he completely lacked bones. He might as well have been a pile of stretched-out gunk, melted rubber on the bottom of an old shoe. “The way it sings to me,” he chuckled, glancing around to see if the cabin was in his field of view. “I don’t know what it is! But it’s beautiful, like lights on the side of a road,” he mused, rambled, senseless. Disoriented. 

Once he was far enough from Techno’s home, he decided to sit down in the snow. Whispers of an ancient melody filled his ears, bringing him a sense of peace as he lay his head down in the softness of the snow and let his eyes gaze at the bright, starry sky above. A tiny smile played on his face. He couldn’t help it. “It’s so soon, so soon and I’m so happy,” he shouted a cracked laugh. “I’m so happy.”

The snow began to swallow him. He let his arms fall limp, and ice froze his wounds so blood no longer drenched his sleeve. A scent of warmth and caramel intruded his nostrils. He closed his eyes to take it in. The melody became louder and louder, mixing with many more new voices he hadn’t heard before.

_ Death is not poetic, Wilbur, so don’t try to make it out to be. You might feel nothing now, but you’ll die in pain and misery. Say goodbye to your life, once and forever you will be gone. How does that make you feel? You will never see another dawn. Oh, but you feel happy. You cannot wait for the sweet release.  _

_ You want to die with this melody, finish your symphony, make it more beautiful than it should ever be.  _

_ Because death isn’t beautiful, it’s not to be romanticized. Especially not if you take your own life. So why do you insist on turning it to poetry? Turn off your brain and let yourself go quietly. _

Breaths rolled off his tongue in short puffs as the freezing cold bites through his skin and nips at his flesh. The palms off his hands begin to hurt uncontrollably, making him cry out. His teeth clicked as his jaw vibrated at a fast pace once the cold settled inside his chest. Somehow, his back began to burn and heat flashed across his body. He felt sweat drip from his forehead - and now it was cold again - and back to hot. The devil played with the switch like he was nothing but a broken toy. He violently trembled and surrendered to the newfound ache in his limbs, one different from anything he had felt before. 

The voices turn to dead silence.

There was no more melody. Just the thumps of his slowed heart against his battered chest.

The pain of the cold made it feel as if someone bashed his skull in with a hammer. He sank deeper into the snow. It all became so exhausting, and he was sure it would soon be over. But he wasn’t fully aware of what exactly would be over. All he knew was soon. Soon, soon, soon. 

_ Do you remember?  _ A new voice rang in his ears, sharp enough to make him bleed.  _ Do you remember when you were a child, and your mother took care of you? Do you remember when you drew that flag… And she said it was beautiful. She said you’d become a great leader someday, that’s what you’ve always wanted. To lead the people!  _

“I don’t want to remember,” he tossed and turned, or at least attempted to, but his contracted muscles wouldn’t cooperate. “I don’t want to remember.”

_ You thought you’d make a difference in this world… And you did, you did make a difference! You fucked the world up a little more than it was already fucked.  _

The snow crunched gently in his ears. His head dropped back, and he let it. The shivers had stopped, and the intensifying howl of the Arctic gales scattered a layer of snow across his almost frozen body. His blood began to thicken like lava, except it stung like icicles through his compressed veins instead of burning him alive. The heartbeats… The heartbeats slow. Not completely, not yet, but they slow. Arrhythmical, daunting, clamorous. 

_ Something pools and it wants some in you wish there is no place and distance home fills with grace. Soon you hear will hear wind and nothing inside nothing in people you think to listen.  _

Disembodied echoes of aphasia haunted his mind, as shadows began to appear in his vision when he opened his eyes. The shadows were faceless, or at least he had thought. Perhaps they had a face, but he wasn’t able to recognize it. His eyes moved along with the soul-sucking figures and took notice of each of their movements. They got into his face, saying something, but the words turned from senseless to incomprehensible. It was an incessant, tiresome ramble in ran-on sentences without any meaning, and it made him boil with rage.

But he had no strength to be angry, not anymore.

And everything was becoming too loud again, too bright despite the nighttime… 

He began to burn. Completely, utterly, fully burn - no dilemma, no mistake. Heat pooled in his stomach and grew until it took over his entire body. He was sure this was fire, not ice. He could see it, in fact, the golden flames gnawing at his skin, tearing him apart with their vicious teeth. The fire parched his flesh to the bone and he wanted to scream into the heavens. Nothing left his throat, only a choke, or a sob, he wasn’t sure over the shouts of the voices.

_ Think about it! Think about soon. You will try- no, it will come true! Soon you will feel. Feel nothing at- nothing at- nothing at all.  _ The noises interlaced each other in an infuriating web of meaninglessness.

Lying alone in the bitter cold, he closed his eyes once and for all. 

The voices stopped again. However, instead of silence, this time there was a constant ringing. One tone, high frequency, an ear-splitting loudness, shrieking like a banshee in the-same-tone. The shrill grew stronger as its volume increased, and it became the only thing he could hear.

There was nothing left for him in this world. 

He let out his final breath and succumbed to the void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it isn't over yet.


	20. The Arctic Peace Treaty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: heavy mentions of self-harm, suicide, death, loss, trauma and abuse

A deafening roar of the Arctic gale slammed into the lonesome wooden cabin.

Techno’s eyes shot open as he awoke to the thundering noise. He shifted under the covers and glanced through the window, but there was nothing to see. A snowstorm was on the non-existent horizon, the world covered in ceaseless snow that crackled against the window pane. He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and fought the fatigue that threatened to overtake him again. It was dark outside, some time about five in the morning, and he had only managed to get a couple of hours of sleep due to the significant minutes lost staring at the ceiling in thought. 

Which he usually didn’t do. But something kept him restless tonight. His intuition told him something was wrong, and he couldn’t really put a finger on what was getting in the way of his six hours of blissful unconsciousness.

He put a pillow over his head and tried to silence the worrisome voice chatting his ear off in the back of his head, yet no matter how hard he concentrated on falling back asleep, an unfamiliar fear shouted at him to get out of bed.

So he did, sliding out from under the sheets and letting his lengthy hair flow like a watermelon river over his shoulders. Almost any other morning, he’d spend an hour in front of the mirror putting on his dress shirt or braiding his hair, but it didn’t feel right to do anything besides throwing on a plain white sweater and hop into a pair of narrow trousers that perfectly fit against his slim legs. He grabbed a fistful of his hair and slid a black headband off his wrist, tying it up in a ponytail with a few escaped pink locks falling over his forehead. Sometimes he cared too much about looking fashionable and stylish, to the point where he tended to let his hair down during battles just because it flew in the wind like a banner in the sky. He could afford it, though, being unbeatable and all.

The anxiety in his chest reminded him to snap out of his fantasies. 

He hurried toward the bathroom, and upon opening the door instantly felt as if something was different. A stench of dreariness clung to the air. He made focused, sharp glances at every corner of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted drops of blood on the floor, and his gaze wandered to the knife which lay on the side of the sink. Unnerved, uneasiness building up in his throat, he crouched down to pick the object up and clicked its blade inside of it, putting it back into the cupboard. “What happened here…?” It felt like a murder scene, but without a body. He shook his head in dismissal, swallowing his uncertainty, and leaned against the sink to brush his teeth. 

Somehow the obsidian mirror wasn’t showing him a reflection of himself. He pierced it with his eyes to find a trace of something unusual, wordlessly asking it for an explanation, and it replied with complete darkness - the existing reflection spun in a circle, being pulled into the centre by an impossible centripetal force. And it was gone, without a trace, replaced with nothing but a lifeless obsidian plate. Techno blinked twice in utter perplexity. “Huh?”

_ Snow _ , a whispery voice spoke from the mirror.  _ In the snow. Come save. Hurry. Too late. Almost. _

“I don’t think I’ve slept enough,” Techno muttered under his breath and shook his head again as a way to ignore the pleas from the darkness. As much as he indulged in dark magic at times, he didn’t believe that mirrors could speak to him. He only used magic for material advantages, such as potions, enchanting his weapons, or totems - more accurately, the one totem he had lost in the fire of L’Manberg after giving it to Wilbur. So whatever he was hearing right now, it was nothing but a hallucination, a chipped away piece of psychosis stuck in the web of his brain itching to be taken out. 

_ Cold. So cold. Freezing. Rescue. Bones burning.  _

“Nah,” Techno shrugged, taking a sip of water to spit it out after putting his toothbrush aside. “I don’t buy it. This voice isn’t real.”

Then why was it urging him to move towards the living room? Why did he feel its tug, a warning on his sleeve to hurry up?

“Then again,” he hummed in thought. “Karl gave me this mirror. And that man knows more about otherworldly business than I ever will. Maybe it is speaking to me.” He carefully took it off the wall and held it against the palms of his hands, locking his gaze to its gloom. “C’mon, say something, you useless piece of-”

_ Follow him. Into the snow. Your blood.  _

“My blood?” Techno furrowed his brows and pursed his lips in confusion. “You know what? I’ll figure it out myself.” He sighed, placing the mirror back on its nail. “I don’t need to waste time decrypting a hallucination, what am I doing?”

Before leaving the bathroom, he cleaned the droplets of blood off the floor and the side of the trough, and disappeared towards the living room.

The first sign of something not being right was the wide open door of the main entrance, letting out gushes of icy air into the living room. He fought with the wind to close it, and leaned his shoulder against the door until he heard a satisfying click. 

Ever since he opened his eyes this morning, some kind of tension kept pressing down on his chest, and he was slowly becoming annoyed at its persistence. As if it wanted him to decode what was wrong. Perhaps the answer was hiding in plain sight. 

He’d figure it out eventually, it probably wasn’t important anyway. 

Stretching his arms behind his head and letting out a soft yawn, he thought about what he could do so early in the day, as he wasn’t very busy lately and could afford a couple of days of vacation. He wasn’t near tight on finances, his weapon arsenal piled up to the limit of the sky, his only duty was to keep the children safe and train Ranboo to fulfill his ever-growing potential. And make nice with Wilbur, of course, although that was the hardest thing on the list. Wilbur was too stubborn, stuck in the past and unable to forgive Techno for his childhood misdeeds no matter how many times Techno proved to be better than that, no matter how many times he tried to convince Wilbur he was a changed man. Maybe Wilbur needed a grand gesture. Techno took notice of his undefeatable trust issues, so maybe words weren't enough to fix their strained relationship. But what could he do to make the other love him like the brother he was?

He would talk to him about it when Wilbur woke up.

For now, he could do a bit of writing, get his thoughts into place and make a plan of what to say. It would be for the best, since he was far from good with words. He reached for the counter above his drawers where he kept his bottle of ink, but when he moved his hand to grab it, his fingers combed the air as there was nothing there. “Huh,” he became more wary of each new clue. “Where the hell is my-,” Techno started to speak, and turned around just to spot a piece of scribbled out paper lying flat on the living room table. “Oh.” 

With a great deal of apprehension, he picked up the paper and began to read. His eyes skimmed over the page, each next word causing shards of ice to grow under his skin. “Oh, no.” He deadpanned in utter shock. “Glowing regards… Wilbur.”

His brother was in danger. 

He didn’t take a second to wait before he crumpled up the paper and threw it into the trash can, rushing to grab his coat and jump into his combat boots. Pushing the chair underneath the table and throwing the coat over his shoulders, Techno wasted no time. He ran out of the house and let the door slam behind him with the winter winds. 

There was only one slight issue - the snowstorm was harsh enough to tear his body to shreds, and he was nearly snowed in. If he were to go looking for Wilbur, they’d both end up dead in the cold. 

“What do I do, what do I do?!” He paced around the thick layer of snow and tangled his fingers in his hair as he tried to calm his thoughts the best he could. But it was a little difficult, after just finding out his brother tried to off himself by freezing alive in the unknown. He didn't even know which direction Wilbur had taken. It was a futile mission.

For the first time in his life, fear paralyzed Techno in place.

He couldn’t save his own brother from a white death.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Wilbur was burning. Unconscious, he dreamt about a bright red fire absorbing his entire body, while an unfamiliar hand stretched his bones like melted gum. His organs were chewed up and spit out, stepped on and shredded into pieces, and there was nothing left of his brain besides a dusty pile of smoke scattered across the barren lands of his skull. Was he dead? It was hard to tell. He tried to look around - all he saw was a distorted nothingness, an endless expanse of discoloured light, hollow but at the same time filled with an unnamed colour and a purple tinted vapour. As his eyes moved left and right to find any clues to where he might be, he was engulfed by a wave of sickening, ungodly pain, an ache stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. He was torn apart, screaming for help but no sound could be heard. The wetness of his clothes clung to his skin, drenched in sweat from head to toe, and his limbs turned to gravel as they throbbed in unimaginable agony. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch a breath, and every time he opened his mouth all that came out was a helpless, throaty wheeze. The light grew stronger, until its rays blinded him with their intensity and there was nothing but absolute, deafening whiteness.

And then he was awake.

He leaned forwards and began to gasp for air, counting his breaths but unable to catch them. A heavy pressure lay on top of his chest and pushed every last atom of oxygen out of his lungs, forcing him to gag and dry-heave until tears rolled down his face to his lips. “Am I dead?” He choked out, voice hoarse from the silent screaming in the void. His body was trembling more violently than when he had died in the snow.

He died in the snow. So why was he here, then? Was this the afterlife?

“Hello, Wilbur,” a caramel-scented voice flowed through his ears, making him look up towards it.

With his vision blurred to a radial spiral of indistinctive shapes, he vaguely managed to discern some blond hair and a green uniform, the evidence pointing that he was with… “Dream?” He blinked to clear his sight and to comprehend what was beyond comprehension. “What- what is this? Where am I?”

Despite how afraid he was, Wilbur felt a radiating heat gently run over his skin, pulling him into its warm embrace. The crackle of flames from the fireplace was a comforting noise during these times of complete sensory agitation. When he looked around, he found himself lying on a bed in an unfamiliar wooden cabin, small but nicely decorated, and through the window all he could see was snow stretching into the distance. It perplexed him even more. 

“You’re not dead,” Dream chuckled under his breath. “I found your body in the snow, so I carried you to my base and brought you back to life before it was too late. With a totem of undying, if you know what those-”

“You resurrected me?” Wilbur’s body went static from shock. His arms were glued to his sides, and he felt like he would evaporate if he moved an inch. “Like, brought me back from the dead?”

“Yeah?” Dream calmly replied, as if it was a normal occurrence. “Would you rather I had left you for dead?”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, I would! I cannot even kill myself without you fucking it up!” Wilbur cried out, pulling on his hair and dragging it down his forehead in excruciating frustration. 

Dream paled at the words, biting his lip. “I didn’t think- I didn’t think you did  _ that _ . I thought you got trapped in the snow.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” the other bitterly laughed through tears. “I don’t know if you tried to do something good for a change, but you’re just putting me through more torture like this. Maybe that’s your goal, it probably is. You said it yourself, you’re a fucking sadist.”

“It wasn’t my goal to torture you, not this time,” Dream sighed. “I need your help.”

“Pardon me?” Wilbur snorted, eyes wide as saucers as he glared at the other in utter awe, astounded by the tone-deaf ignorance of the man. He ran his hands over his face to wipe away the tears, and let out a shaky breath. “You destroyed two of my homes, injured me in battle, burnt down my city, threatened my little brother with death, revived me from a fucking suicide, and now you’re asking for my help?! Do you have any idea what kind of trauma I had to endure-”

“I know.” Dream remained calm. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you didn’t just say that. You didn’t. After that whole fucking speech about  _ not messing with a psychopath _ you think I would ever believe an apology coming out of your mouth?”

“Fair point,” the other mumbled. “That speech was just for show, though. You know better than I do that you can’t only use weapons to win a war. You need words, too.”

“You’re trying to get into my head, but it won’t work,” Wilbur muttered, taking deep inhales to ground himself and avoid lashing out with anger. “If there’s one way you can’t hurt me, it’s manipulation.”

Dream let out a breathy laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. “Understandable. You are pretty intelligent.”

“Fuck off,” Wilbur snapped. “Empty praises won’t earn you my help.”

“How about a promise?” Dream continued. “If you help me, I will never bother you and your friends ever again. I’ll let you live in complete peace and disappear from your lives. I’ll even give you a piece of land, maybe, so you don’t have to stay in the Arctic.”

Wilbur opened his mouth to yell again, but stopped himself. Whatever Dream needed from him, he obviously cared about it enough to put such a big offer on the table. And as much it confused him, even psychopaths had something they would die for. Apparently. He caught a glimpse of a certain sadness running deep within the greenness of Dream’s eyes - and it almost made him empathize. But he couldn’t. For all the pain this man had put him through, one portrayal of human emotion wouldn’t get him on Wilbur's good side. Yet somehow a part of him urged to help, to prove to himself that he wasn’t selfish. He had been selfish enough in his lifetime, and all of those misdeeds eventually led to him taking his life. So if the Universe forced him into another chance at existing, he’d make sure that he was kinder this time. Even if it meant helping Dream. “I will, uh, consider it. Just consider. But tell me what you need from me first.”

“Great! I knew you’d come around,” Dream clapped his hands. “So, you know George, right?”

“The traitor, sure. He fucked us over by trying to be on both sides.”

“Yes, and he’s also my best friend. Well, used to be, until all of this happened, until you came into play and wrecked our relationship.”

“Not sorry about that.” Wilbur shrugged. “But do go on.”

“George is one of the only people I truly care about.” Dream’s voice dropped an octave, his demeanor coated with a sudden rush of guilt. “I said some terrible things to him recently in the heat of the moment, and he completely abandoned the Dream SMP once and for all. I don’t know where he went, but I need to find him. The only problem is, he won’t listen to me if I ask him to return.”

Wilbur furrowed his brows as the idea dawned on him. “You want me to talk George into being your friend.”

“You’re the only person he’d listen to, Wilbur. Even though you might not like him all that much, he likes you.”

“So you’re saying... I’m supposed to help my biggest enemy to get back in touch with the person who betrayed me twice? In what cursed, unholy Universe would anyone do that?”

“Come on, I’ll make it worth your while.” Dream insisted, and Wilbur found himself analyzing the slight hint of pleading in his words. 

“I’m too tired for this bullshit.” Wilbur slid his hands down his face, groaning out of pure exasperation. In the past twelve hours, he had died of hypothermia, woken up resurrected at his tormentor’s base, and was now asked to assist said tormentor. Nothing made sense again, and he could feel himself slipping back into a derealized state. 

Dream nodded, sitting down on the bed next to Wilbur and making the other flinch away from his presence. “If you don’t want to help me, I understand,” a sorrowful undertone graced his voice. Whether it was honest or not, Wilbur could no longer tell. He relied on his skepticism and paranoia to avoid being controlled, but Dream’s words cut through a layer of his guard. The more he soaked up his sadness, the more he felt like he had to do something about it. 

“Fine,” Wilbur let out a long exhale. “I’ll help you. But only if you promise to leave my friends and family alone and grant us a permanent place to stay, just like you said. No wars, no bloodshed. A peace treaty to last an eternity. I’ll conduct a written contract.”

“A contract? Wow, you really were a city kid. Was your dad a lawyer or something? That sounds high and mighty.” Dream chuckled. 

“Don’t remind me of my past,” Wilbur immediately shut down his banter, as his bones froze and his shoulders twitched just at the thought of his father. He pursed his lips and locked his gaze to the floor.

The blond gave him a curious, half-sympathetic glance. “Was it so bad that you can’t even bear the mention of your city?” 

Wilbur went silent, falling into a cascade of unwanted memories and fighting against a flashback - he couldn’t afford to show his vulnerabilities in front of a sadistic man like Dream, who was out to exploit him any way or the other. He pressed his hands together and lay them in his lap, shutting his eyes tight for a moment to repress the picture that threatened to flash in front of him. He was trapped in a suicidal mindset, and his skin ached to be torn apart to forget. Absentmindedly, he scratched his left arm over his sweater and accidentally reopened a wound. Blood dampened the sleeve and made the crimson stains grow larger, but he didn’t notice.

“Uh, you’re bleeding,” Dream noticed, snapping Wilbur out of his never-ending train of depressive thoughts. “Want me to get some bandages for that?” He pointed to his bloodstains.

“It’s fine.” The younger replied. He pulled up his sleeve above his elbow to let the blood dry without the discomfort of it sticking to his drenched sweater, and Dream gaped at the sea of scars littered across the other’s arm. 

“You didn’t do this yourself, right?” He asked with apprehension. 

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, I just- it’s interesting to me.” Dream admitted. “Emotions are interesting.”

“Ah, they must be, when you don’t feel them like a normal person,” Wilbur scoffed, hitting the other where it hurt the most. 

“It’s not that I don’t. I was taught not to show them, so it’s strange how other people just… Express them. Even in shitty ways, like you hurting yourself, you show them. It’s so weird. I always just kind of lock them away, y’know. It’s not very manly for people to show them.”

“Manly?” Wilbur cackled, glancing at Dream with an amused expression. “That’s so stupid.”

“Well, that’s how I was raised.” Dream shrugged. “My mother died when I was young, so I only had my dad. And he… Never mind, you wouldn’t understand. Hell, I don’t even understand.”

“Fuckin’ try me,” Wilbur crossed his arms. He was surprised at Dream’s sudden show of emotions, even vulnerability, and didn’t expect him to mention his own past haunting him. It frightened him to think how he and Dream weren't all so different. 

Dream fiddled with a string hanging from his fingerless gloves as he thought about how to say it. “Well, when I was a kid, my father insisted on training me to become a soldier. He’d wake me up every morning at five and force me to jump obstacles, dodge arrows, all that crap. And if I acted out or was disobedient, he’d punish me. I was six years old when he first whipped me with a belt and left me out in the cold. He said it was for training purposes, but I almost died so I don’t see how it could’ve been productive. And he hit me a lot in general, just because he could. I think he had a lot of pent-up rage that he lashed out on me, which I understand. I mean, I do that as well. It’s normal. He didn’t do anything wrong, but it didn’t feel right back then. Then he abandoned me when he made a child with someone else. And he became president, so I knew I had to start my own nation to become more powerful than his. Which it did. But then he got sick, and I refused to help him even though his new wife begged me. I let his child watch them both die, and I’m really not sure why I did it. But it felt good.”

“Wait,” Wilbur was flooded with lots of information, shocking him to the core. He didn’t know whether to react to the fact he and Dream shared the same trauma, or the little detail that stuck out to him the most. Suddenly, he made the connection, and everything fell into place. “Schlatt is your dad?”

“Yes.” Dream sighed. “Tubbo is my half-brother.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“Why did you threaten me to kill him the other day?” Wilbur felt more confused than before, but at the same time his mind became clearer with the finding of Dream’s backstory. If he didn’t empathize before, he sure understood him now. And it hurt, it felt like his own pain dropped twice on his chest.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t.” Dream gave a simple answer. “I trusted you to use it as an escape tactic, and I really wanted to burn L’Manberg to the ground without any of you dying in the fire.”

“Yet you allowed some of your soldiers to die in it.”

“Eh, collaterals. I needed to make sure Tubbo survived, so I saved you guys and let the others burn.”

“But why would you want to destroy L’Manberg in the first place?” Wilbur’s confusion only grew by the minute. “You won the territory, why salt the earth you can build upon?”

Dream looked away, almost embarrassed, and interlocked his fingers as if he was praying. “I was envious of him. Our dad was kind to him, seeking redemption, never treated him the way he treated me. Burning down Tubbo’s childhood home gave me a way to erase every last memory of Schlatt from this world. It gave me a sense of closure, a way to move on from my…”

“Trauma?”

“I guess you could call it that.” 

“No, it definitely is trauma,” Wilbur breathed a laugh. “I’ve been through the same things, Dream. The day before I ran away from home, my father beat me to near unconsciousness, locked me in his dusty basement and gave me no food or water. He made my brothers watch while he hit me, and I wasn’t allowed to stifle a noise because he’d get more violent. He held a knife against my throat and threatened to kill me, but when I challenged him to do it he punched me in the stomach and told me to cry. All because he found a poem I wrote about how much I hated him. So if you think I don’t understand, you’re very wrong.”

“We’re more similar than we thought, huh?” Dream lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “It’s fascinating how the same crappy childhood made us cope in different ways.”

“Yeah, you grew up a psychopath and I have crippling depression. How fascinating.”

“I’m not a psychopath!” Dream raised his voice defensively.

“Right. You’re just… A guilty sadist. You’re miserable, we both are.”

Tight ropes of silence tangled in the air and wrapped around their necks, stifling their words and pushing them down their throats. For a minute, no one dared to speak.

“Maybe it’s time to put an end to our rivalry.” Dream muttered as he sat up and gazed at Wilbur’s slouching figure. 

“Maybe it is.”

“I’m sorry for hurting you, Wilbur.” The soldier merely whispered. 

“I’m sorry for being the reason you and George aren’t talking.” Wilbur placed a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. “And I guess, thank you for… Uh, preventing my suicide?”

“Don’t do it again, though, because I only had one totem of undying.” Dream gave him a light chuckle. 

“No, I’ll probably do it again. I genuinely hate it on this cursed planet. But while I’m here, I might as well be a better person than I was before, and who knows, perhaps my mindset changes and I grow to enjoy life. No matter how impossible that sounds.”

“Friends?” Dream held out his hand, expecting the other to accept the handshake.

“Not enemies is enough,” Wilbur refused. “Forgiveness doesn’t come too easily to me.”

"Not enemies it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally found a song that suits george: antitype by the intersphere


	21. Playing Games

“He’s gone.”

The found family sat around the dining table, unable to look up from the ground. Grief - the ugly, grey stench of loss - lingered in the air and filled every corner of the room, suffocating them in its tight grip. It was a precipitate on their lungs, a layer of black sludge seeping down their throat and into their stomach, wrapping around their insides until nothing remained besides darkness, an emptiness that felt so full at the same time. The world was desaturated. And as much as Tommy’s hand reached inside his chest to find a trace of emotion, a clue to what he should feel, he found himself desperately grabbing onto a hollow nothing, a hole in his heart that could never be patched. 

Reading Wilbur’s letter made him angry. He didn’t believe it was real at first, he thought it was a sick prank played by the Universe itself, but he couldn’t deny the truth for a long time. The evidence was right there. His brother hadn’t come back home for hours, and evening had already fallen upon the snowy cabin. So he began to rage. And he didn’t know whether he directed his anger at himself, Wilbur, or someone else, but he knew one thing - he was completely alone. Alone in the middle of nowhere, in the fucking tundra far away from modern civilization. Tubbo and Ranboo weren't his family, and Techno was, well, Techno. The one person who stood by Tommy’s side his entire life was gone.

Who was he without Wilbur?

All those years he had spent caring for him, comforting him, and following his impulses, went down the drain. Gone with the snow. It didn’t matter, it had never mattered, and it would never matter. God, the anger consumed him. Wilbur was a selfish fucking bastard.

“How could he do this?” Tommy slammed his fist on the table, the sound resonating through the walls and vibrating beneath their feet. He didn’t cry, didn’t feel sad, it was an indescribable new emotion. Kind of like a red, burning ball of fire scorching his stomach, coated in melted iron. “How could he just end his life?”

“He’s been showing signs for a while, to be fair,” Ranboo remained calm for Tommy, but guilt clawed at his heart. “I should’ve asked him about it, I should’ve spoken to him when I noticed the signs. But I didn’t and now… And now he’s gone.” He remembered thinking about approaching Wilbur to ask him about why he was in bed a lot, and taking note of the way he avoided food, his recklessness and descent into self-destruction and it made Ranboo feel ill. It made him feel ill that he  _ noticed _ , paid attention, yet he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Wilbur because he was afraid. He often imagined the conversation in his head, but never brought it to life. Wilbur died at the cost of his fear. 

“Fuck Wilbur, fuck everything, fuck this world that never stops tormenting us,” Tommy buried his face in his hands and took hysterical breaths.” I’m so fucking pissed at him, you don’t even understand.” His voice was muffled within his palms, and he felt the warmth of his breath on his face as he spoke. 

Tubbo wordlessly placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and sighed, not knowing what to say. He wasn’t particularly phased by loss anymore, and he wasn’t able to pretend that he cared. Wilbur was his friend, but not for a while, and all he had brought into his life was misery. It was nice having him at first, before he let George stay at his house despite knowing how he hurt Tubbo, before he decided to turn his childhood home into a city without asking for his consent. Wilbur was the reason why every last memory of his parents was gone in flames - and even Tubbo, with his huge heart and a tendency to forgive, wasn’t sure whether he could let that one slide. He didn’t hate Wilbur, not even close. But he couldn’t pretend to like him as much as Tommy did. 

And it wasn’t like losing someone was new to him.

“I don’t think you’re angry at Wilbur,” Ranboo bit his tongue, afraid he’d cross the line as he tried to be extremely gentle with Tommy’s grief. 

“No, I am,” Tommy laughed and whipped Ranboo in the face with the deadliest glare. “He thinks he’s the only one suffering, all the time. But what about me? And even Techno? We lived with Phil as well. We had a fucked up childhood as well. I’m starting to regret ever following Wilbur into the world.”

“Following him was definitely a bad idea,” Techno agreed with a nod. “I mean, he dragged you into the wild as a kid, I get where you’re coming from.”

“Fuck off, you’re not helping.” Tommy spat out. “If you were a better brother, maybe none of this would’ve happened. This is your fault just as much as Phil’s. And Wilbur’s. And mine.”

“How’s it your fault?” Ranboo questioned with curiosity.

“I couldn’t stop him. I’ve been trying to pull him from his pain for so long just for this bullshit. I’m not anybody’s hero, I’m a failure.” Tommy ran his fingers through his hair and let his head just rest in the palms of his hands.

The words lay heavy on their chests, breeding more anger to make the air around them barely breathable as it filled with the scent of resentment.

After a couple of minutes of pure silence, Tubbo decided to speak. He looked towards Tommy, never taking his hand away from him. “Tommy, I lost both my parents.” He said somberly. “And I always dealt with it by throwing myself into new things. Beekeeping, painting, those hobbies stemmed from dealing with loss. You should try the same, to distract yourself. I found that better than dwelling on it. What’s gone is gone, but your life is still here fully in your control.”

Tommy peeked through his fingers to glance at Tubbo. “So what do you suggest?” He mumbled, voice lacking passion. He was tired, it was late, and all he needed was an endless nap to forget.

“How about we write stories with Ranboo? He’s a good storyteller!” Tubbo suggested with a tiny smile on his face.

“Wilbur always loved writing,” Tommy said in a low tone, barely articulating the words. “I don’t think I can.”

“...It could help carry on his legacy?” Ranboo carefully proposed. 

“He died by his own hands, I don’t think he cared about a fuckin’ legacy,” Tommy got up from the table in a swift motion and slammed his chair underneath. “You know what? You all gave zero fucks about Wilbur anyway, I don’t know why I’m talking to you. I’m going to bed.” He stormed off into the bedroom, each stomp on the wood strong enough to leave a dent in the floor as he left them alone to suffocate in the dull stench of sadness and question their choices.

He threw himself on the bed and drowned his head underneath the pillow as a million thoughts swirled around him. He lost his brother - and not just that, but with Wilbur died his optimism, and faith in the future. Despite his continuous struggle with mental health, Wilbur kept inspiring Tommy and everyone around him to keep going and become the best version of themselves. Even after his death, he left that energy with them in the letter, telling Tommy to move on as quickly as possible and Ranboo to keep training. Now that Wilbur was gone, everything felt like a barren wasteland that had been rained on and turned into mud over and over again, burnt to a crisp and salted so no crops would ever grow back. But a part of Tommy believed this was the most self-centered thing Wilbur had ever done, and it made him think of every other moment that he felt the same way. 

Suddenly, his feelings rapidly cycled between hating him and loving him.

_ “Tommy, pack your bags,” Wilbur storms through the door and throws an empty backpack next to Tommy on the bed, startling him in the process. _

_ Tommy looks up at his brother, wide-eyed and confused, and his heart begins to beat a hundred miles per hour. “Wilbur?” _

_ “We’re fucking leaving.” The older demands, pretending his voice didn’t just crack. “I cannot take it here any longer. Are you coming with me, or?” He’s hysterical, borderline shouting, and his breaths intensify as he paces around the room with his hands in the air.  _

_ “I-I am, just-” Tommy panics and grips the bed sheets with his fingers to ground himself. Anxiety begins to consume him. He understands Wilbur’s descent into madness, knowing what happened the evening before. It’s no surprise Wilbur wants to leave once and for all. But it all feels so sudden, and Tommy isn’t sure whether he wants to go. _

_ He can’t let Wilbur go alone. _

_ “What just, Tommy? I’m fucking sick of everything! Everything, do you understand?!” Wilbur bangs his fist against the wall and digs his nails into his skin. His eyes are puffy from earlier tears and the bags under his eyes are full of unhealed wounds and pain. “I’ve come to the point where if I don’t leave, I either burn the house down and watch them die, or I burn myself and make them watch. But I bet they’d enjoy the second one,” he croaks out and begins to frantically cram clothes from the floor into his backpack, alongside a notebook and a pen. _

_ Tommy’s gut churns at the words. He feels exposed, thrown into an impossible situation, and he doesn’t feel ready enough to make such a decision. Careful as if he walked on eggshells, he gets off the bed and starts helping Wilbur pack, but his frenzy scares him. It almost seems like Wilbur isn’t present at all, only physically. His eyes seem blank, on the brink of psychosis.  _

_ “We’re leaving before Phil and Techno wake up so they don’t know which direction we took,” Wilbur mutters and lets out acidic breaths of rage. “I’m never letting them hurt us again, okay? Never again.” _

_ “Okay,” Tommy bites his lip and obeys, ignoring the pit in his stomach that screams at him to back out. He’s afraid of Wilbur in this moment, and that thought makes him sick.  _

_ “There,” the older zips the bags harsh enough to almost tear off the zipper. “We’re done. Say goodbye to misery and suffering, Tommy. Nothing can ever be as bad as this fucking shithole of a life.” _

_ “Wilbur, wait!” Tommy grabs his sleeve before he can run out the bedroom door. Wilbur looks down at him, and Tommy is scared he’ll get hit, terrified by the expression of absolute madness in his eyes. “This- this is very sudden.” _

_ “I don’t care!” Wilbur laughs. “The sooner I’m out of here, the lesser the chances of me throwing myself into a burning fucking fire!” _

_ “Don’t say that.” The younger mumbled.  _

_ “Let’s go,” Tommy is pulled by his hand and taken away into a completely new life. _

The memory squeezed his brain. He felt Wilbur’s ferocity in his chest, and it caused a green feeling of nausea to build up inside of him. Wilbur had always wanted to take his life. Always. The signs were never recent. It was only a matter of time what would be the final trigger, the drop to spill over the glass. Tommy couldn’t have saved him, whatever he’d done. 

In a way, Wilbur passed his pain onto Tommy. And he had been doing that ever since they left. All the trauma that Phil had inflicted on him was now transferred onto the younger boy, through the endless, vicious cycle of suffering and vengeance. Tommy was conflicted about where to place the blame. 

He didn’t realize he had been crying into the sheets this entire time until he felt the dampness on his cheeks. Sobs began to wrack his throat and he curled up to his knees, letting the tears drown out his thoughts. Wilbur officially hurt him more than any other person in the entire world. More than Dream, maybe.

God, he hated that Dream motherfucker. He was the one who pushed Wilbur to suicide, he tormented them in worse ways than Phil could have even thought of. But with L’Manberg’s death, Tommy hoped to never see him again - he got what he had wanted, didn’t he?

Sadness exhausted him. It was a new feeling for him, and he wasn’t enjoying it. Slowly, he dozed off to sleep, with the last image on his mind being his brother crying in agony and a ceaseless pressure on his heart.

If nightmares weren't coming to haunt him now, they never would. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Wilbur was having one of the strangest evenings of his life.

He thought it couldn’t have gotten weirder after being resurrected from the dead and waking up in a secret Arctic base owned by his tormentor. Yet here he was, wrapped in a cozy blanket and a new dark green sweater that Dream had given him, softly sipping fresh, tasteless hot chocolate from a porcelain mug, staring into the fireplace and soaking up the much-needed heat as Dream lay next to him. With each crackle of the flames he felt calmer, but the calmness carried a layer of uncertainty around it. Why was Dream nice to him? Why hadn’t he been tortured yet, or stabbed to death and brought back to life over and over again? It was what Wilbur had expected. Or at the least, he thought he’d get shouted at and mistreated. 

But Dream sat at his desk as snow roared outside of the cabin and wrote up the contract under the warm glow of candlelight, telling Wilbur he would do it to get the work off the other’s hands. After they signed it, he prepared Wilbur a warm beverage and let him change, even providing him a place to shower and sleep. 

And Wilbur started truly sympathizing with him. Longing and loneliness radiated from Dream, so Wilbur firmly believed he wasn’t repeatedly killed just because Dream needed a friend by his side. No matter how sadistic he might’ve been, he was alone. Missing George severely damaged him, apparently, since he offered comfort to an ex-enemy.

“Why do I feel like I’m not allowed to leave?” Wilbur asked the question as he glanced towards the blond man.

“Because it’s true,” Dream shrugged, not looking away from the fire. “We have a deal, you’re with me until I get George back.”

“Right.” The younger mumbled. “It’s fine with me, really. My family thinks I’m dead, it’s not like I have anywhere to be. And it’s better if I stay away from them.”  _ I’ve only caused them harm _ , he wanted to add, but kept that bit to himself.

“Yeah, you’d probably only cause them pain anyway.” Dream said, and Wilbur felt the words prick his skin. “I mean, imagine thinking your brother killed himself just to find him alive again, siding with the enemy.”

“...Mhm.” Wilbur gazed down and gently moved his mug back and forth to watch the hot chocolate spin against the edges, careful so it doesn’t spill over. 

“It’d be devastating...” The older continued. 

“You’re a lot more bearable when you don’t speak,” Wilbur cut him off before he could ramble any further. “You implied that I should never see my family again.”

Dream rolled on his back and gazed up at Wilbur. “Well, you shouldn’t. That’s just my opinion, though. I don’t give a fuck about what you do after our business deal expires.”

“Wow, you’re so caring,” Wilbur retorted with sarcasm. “I bet George can’t wait to talk to you!”

“And I bet Tommy’s so happy you’re gone,” Dream bit back, but it didn’t match the energy - it made Wilbur flinch and avert his gaze back to the fire to avoid facing the other. “Too far?”

“Burning L’Manberg was too far, but yes.”

“I already told you why I did that. Wouldn’t you burn every last remnant of your past if you could?” 

Wilbur tapped his fingers on the mug and pursed his lips in thought. “I do want closure.”

“Exactly! I knew you’d understand me.” Dream smiled. 

“Don’t say that.” Wilbur muttered. “I’m not too fond of knowing we share the same past but in different fonts. I could’ve grown up a sadistic fuck like you, but instead I’m stuck with you in a cabin in the middle of bloody nowhere. Do you know how much that sucks? Being trapped with someone who constantly reminds you of the torture you’ve been through?”

“You think I want you here?” Dream said through his teeth.

Wilbur couldn’t help but laugh, the raspy sound vibrating through the floor. “I think you do. I’m the only person you have right now. And I know how much you crave someone to manipulate. When George isn’t around, who else to exploit besides your next most fragile victim?”

“God, you are annoying.” The blond curled his fists and groaned into the floor. 

“I just died this morning, don’t expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows.”

“No, I’m serious,” Dream pulled himself up from the ground and sat up, locking his gaze to Wilbur’s eyes, as he emanated an aura of intimidation. “If you don’t bite your tongue, this won’t end well. Just because I need you, doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you. Understood?”

Wilbur gazed back into the abyss of Dream’s eyes without blinking and sucked in a sharp breath. “Yes,” he nodded and unconsciously moved away from the other, swallowing a sudden bout of fear.

He realized at that moment what kind of contract he had signed.

It wasn’t a simple partnership for mutual benefits, no, it was far from that. He was at Dream’s mercy, fully dependent on him, and there was no way to escape - because if he were to run, he’d put his family in danger. Until they find George and reignite the spark of their friendship, Wilbur would have to endure lots of threats, and without doubt did he know Dream would provoke his flashbacks. Who knows what would happen if he were to disobey at any point during this so-called agreement.

This was going to be quite damaging to his pride, if there was anything left of it in the first place.

“Good.” Dream said, turning back to stare at the fire.

_ Manipulative bastard, _ Wilbur wished to respond. Under any other circumstance, he’d have said it out loud, but after Dream got in his face he decided it was better to leave it at a passing thought. “You have any games we could play?” He asked instead.

“Hm,” Dream contemplated, glancing up at the ceiling. “I have chess, I think.”

“What about playing cards?” 

“Nah, card games don’t interest me as much.” 

“Too bad,” Wilbur frowned, pursing his lips to the side. “I really like solitaire.”

“I actually hate solitaire, it’s so boring. Who wants to play games alone?” Dream got up from the floor and headed towards a spruce wood cabinet in the corner of the cabin. “I’ll grab the chess board.”

“Fine,” the brunet shrugged and moved a bothersome strand of hair out of his eyes. “But I suck at chess, just so you know.”

“Of course you do.” Dream chuckled under his breath. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Dream placed the chess board in front of Wilbur as he plopped back down by the fireplace, laying it out and spreading the black and white pieces over the floor. Wilbur grabbed a fistful of black pawns and began setting them on his side of the board, one by one, making sure that they stood perfectly in the middle of each square. The other curiously observed, until Wilbur caught a glimpse of his staring.

“What are you looking at?” He asked.

“Just interested as to why your figures have to be in the exact middle.” Dream said as he arranged his white pieces on the board.

“I’m sure there’s a metaphor somewhere in there,” Wilbur sneered, his words adorned with mockery. “Alright, the first move is yours.”

“As it always is.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nightfall had always brought danger upon the wilderness, everyone knew that. That was why people made sure to avoid staying out late to prevent their deaths by monsters that appeared from the darkness. But George couldn’t bring himself to care much anymore. So what if it was nighttime? So what if he had to run from skeletons and pierce his sword into the chests of multiple zombies?

He kept running despite it all. He had spent days running. Where he was going, he wasn’t quite sure. It only mattered that it was as far away from the Dream SMP as possible. What Dream said to him was irredeemable. His words erased every possibility of their rekindling, and ripped through their past like it never existed in their first place.

“If I ever see him again,” George talked to himself, footsteps hurrying down the plains. “I’m going to kill him. I will!” He laughed, acid spilling from his tongue. “I’ll take down his fucking kingdom if it’s the last thing I do.”

Absolute anarchy was what he craved. No factions, no kingdoms? No wars. But it was no longer just about that - he wanted revenge. He knew Dream cared about power and holding onto some sort of hierarchy, and George was ready to do anything to take that away from him. Were his motives completely pure? Maybe not. However, in a manic state like this, hurt and utterly heartbroken, he couldn’t have given less of a shit about it. 

The words Dream had put in his head were on replay like a broken record.

_ “I know you snuck out to warn L’Manberg.” Dream glares him down as George walks into the room. _

_ “What?” George freezes in place, afraid to move an inch. “I didn’t- I never did that.” _

_ “You did,” Dream approaches him, and George backs up against the wall. “You were never loyal, were you?” He spits the words out at the shorter man.  _

_ “That’s not true,” the other gazes up, breaths quickening once he realizes he’s trapped beneath Dream’s looming stature.  _

_ “George, you’re a traitor to both sides, can’t you see that?” Dream begins to shout, gripping George by the shirt and causing him to tremble in fear. “I’m sick of you going behind everyone’s backs to play your silly games, when we all know you’re bound to lose. You fucked me over, you warned Wilbur about the attack, but you still let L’Manberg burn! You hid like a fucking coward and watched it go up in flames. And guess what? People died because of that! Not that I care. But I know you do.” _

_ “None of this is true, shut up!” George tries to push Dream away, but the other slams him into the wall. “Just let me go!” He screams, trying his hardest not to cry.  _

_ “You’re nothing but a filthy traitor, and I’m sure everyone would be happier if you were the one who burned alive instead of them!” _

_ Dream stops himself before he can say anything else. His eyes widen, and he takes a shaky step backwards. He releases George from his grip, and notices tears on the other’s cheeks. He’s sure he has gone too far, but there is no way to take words back.  _

_ “I…” George hyperventilates and attempts to keep it quiet. “Did you ever care about me?” _

_ Dream doesn’t answer. _

_ “Good to know.” George nods, chuckling breathlessly. “Good to know that none of this has never meant anything to you. You can keep digging down your misanthropic bottom, I'm leaving.” _

_ “George, it did mean-” _

_ “I don’t want to hear it.” _

So what now?


	22. Control

_ “Run faster!”  _

_ His father’s voice, boisterous and rough like sandpaper against his brain, rumbles through the air as he runs over the obstacle course. Blood rushes up to his face and the stomping of his feet in the grass beats like a deafening drum in his ears. He’s tired, breathless, and doesn’t know how long it’s been. All he wants its to catch a break. “Please,” he gasps and tries to catch a breath. “I can’t anymore!”  _

_ “Zip it and keep running,” the father replies with a deadly sternness in his tone, and it makes the child flinch - his right foot stumbles over a log and he trips, falling on his knees, palms first in the dirt. He is hysterical in his attempts to breathe, and he presses his dirtied hands into his chest to prevent the pain in his rapidly beating heart from spreading. The heartbeats pulsate against his skull as he leans forward. He can barely handle it, and he begins to see stars dance in front of his eyes like it’s his final day. His father’s footsteps approach him, crouching next to his spinning head. “You’re useless,” he spits at him. “You’ve only been training for five hours.” _

_ “Fi- five hours…?” The blond boy trembles, brushing off the filth from his hands and coughs as he pulls himself off the ground. “Can we stop?” _

_ “No, you still haven’t done the one with dodging arrows.”  _

_ “I can’t, I’m so tired!” Dream’s voice turns to a high-pitched whine. When he realizes he shouted, he instantly covers his face with his arms to avoid the impact of his father’s fist. But it comes anyway, the sharp-cutting pain colliding with his jaw, and he wavers backwards, using every last atom of energy to regain balance on his shaky legs. “Stop!” _

_ “You’re never gonna grow up to be a fucking man if you whine like a little bitch, you know that?” _

_ He’s sick of the comments, the torture, the so-called training which keeps sucking out his soul. He can feel his heart turn to ice with each passing day, and the more time he spends with his father, the larger the urge to burn everything down. It grows within him like a wildfire, and he believes that one day he’ll get his revenge.  _

_ One day he’ll burn it all down. _

_ His thoughts are interrupted by two harsh hands on his shoulders pulling him back into reality. He focuses his gaze on the blood-freezing image of his raging father. ”Are you even listening, you piece of shit?” _

_ “No, I don’t want to!” Dream tries to push him away. “I want to stop running!” _

_ “Oh, are you gonna cry?” The man taunts him. But Dream won’t cry - he never does.  _

_ No matter how much he wishes for the tears to prick his eyes, they never come, and he’s left with an empty sadness running through his veins and a tempest of vengeance.  _

_ “Dream!” The father shouts again.  _

“Dream, wake up!” A sudden softer voice replaced Schlatt’s gruffness. Dream jolted upwards, sweat dripping down his forehead, and his eyes shot wide open as if he was caught in the headlights. “Dream, it’s okay, you’re safe, you were just having a nightmare.”

It took him another moment to regain consciousness, glancing from corner to corner of the room to ground himself and realize that he wasn’t on the obstacle field, and that his father wasn’t there. “Oh,” he breathed, repeatedly blinking. “It was just a nightmare.”

“Yes,” Wilbur’s gentle tone reached his ears. “It’s all fine, you’ll be okay.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me,” Dream hissed and looked up with rage steaming behind his eyes, the anger from the nightmare spilling into his reality. He felt himself beginning to boil. “This is your fault, you selfish fuck. I haven’t had nightmares about him in so long.”

“How- how is it my fault?” Wilbur took a step backwards and put his hands up. “You were shouting in your sleep so I woke you up from it, because I thought-”

“You made me think about my past again!” Dream jumped out of bed and got into Wilbur’s face, grabbing the other by the collar of his sweater. 

Wilbur cowered in fear and struggled to push Dream away by the shoulders. “Calm down, please,” he shuddered. 

“I was fine before you came into my life. Everything was fucking  _ perfect _ , then you took George away from me, and made me confess about being mistreated! It’s literally all your fault, Wilbur, all of this,” the blond felt a rush, a heated urge to hurt the other.

“Dream, just try to calm down-,” Wilbur fought out of his grip and protected his face with his hands, thinking Dream was about to hit him any second. His stomach clenched and pressed against his insides, turning upside down as he tried his hardest to visualize something not as horrifying in his mind - but all he could think about was the way he used to be injured by Phil. And when Dream slapped him across the face and the stabbing pain dug under his skin, he closed his eyes hoping none of this was real. “You’re not in your right mind, please!”

Dream’s shouts intensified, roaring through the walls louder than the snowstorm. He felt Wilbur’s trembling body in his hands and he liked the way he made the other helpless. In the heat of the moment, he slapped him across the face again and grabbed his wrists when he tried to shield himself from the impact. “I should’ve killed you back when we first met! I could have!” He spat in his face.

“Then do it right fucking now!” Wilbur screamed and gripped Dream by his shirt. “Kill me, I don’t mind!” He glared him dead in the eyes, and the other fell silent on instant. “I know you can’t,” he lowered his voice once the quiet settled in. “You need me.”

“You’re a bastard,” Dream released him from his hold and pushed him away so he hit his back against the wall, refusing to admit that Wilbur was right. He did need him. “Selfish piece of shit. You ruined everything.”

“I know, Dream. I’m more than aware of it. That’s why I tried to end it all.” The words ended in a faint whisper, and he couldn’t bear to look at the other. He gazed down at his feet. 

“That’s even more selfish, though. You’re worse than me, you know?” The older took a deep breath to calm his fit of rage. “When you think about it, death doesn’t matter to the person who dies, but to the ones who grieve them. So when I kill people, it matters none to them. It’s not a point of whether they died by their own hands or someone else’s, what's important is that they’re gone from their friends’ lives. Maybe suicide is even worse, because it falls harder on people’s hearts to know their loved one took their life. You’re so much worse than me, Wilbur. I’ve hurt people, but not near as badly as you.”

“You can’t be serious.” Wilbur said lowly, gaping in utter shock at what he was hearing.

“But I am,” Dream laughed. “You’re more evil than I am.”

“Oh, you’re still trying to get in my head? It’s not going to work, how many times do I have to-”

“I’m not trying anything, I’m succeeding.” A tiny smirk danced on his lips. 

“Alright then,” Wilbur raised his hands in the air. “If you’re so high and mighty, you don’t need my help. Go make friends with George yourself. And we both know how that’s going to go.” He began to walk towards the exit, despite the wind howling and rocking the snowed-in cabin. As he was about to open the door, he felt Dream’s hand around his arm dragging him back, and he whipped his head around to face him. 

“Did you forget the contract, Wilbur? Have three days out here been enough time to forget?” Dream asked with a newfound calmness, but Wilbur could sense the darkness oozing from the words. “You can leave, go ahead. But remember the part where it says I’ll never touch your family if you help me. Think about what it implies.”

Wilbur found himself at a loss for words. His frightened eyes met Dream’s, grim and brimming with cruelty. “You trapped me.” He murmured.

“We’re never going to be equals,” Dream pulled him closer. “You can try to win by repeating that I need you, but that’s never going to give you the upper hand. And you know why?”

“...Why?” The younger gripped the hem of his sleeve for a crumb of comfort. 

“Because no matter how smart you are, you can’t outsmart me. This life is  _ my  _ chessboard, and you’re just one of the pieces I twiddle between my fingers when I’m bored. You walked into my game recklessly, and there’s no easy escape. Go in once, and you will never come out.”

“I can just kill myself again, and you could do nothing about it.” Wilbur’s breath hitched as he spoke. 

“I have a stash of totems. For all you can do, I could keep killing you and bringing you back.”

Wilbur thought of the way Dream used a friendly tone to tell him to stay away from self-injury, and a burdening realization struck him. He was tricked. “But you said-"

“I lied, Wilbur.” Dream pierced him with his gaze as tension rose with each second and quickened their heartbeats. “You’re completely in my control.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Three days had passed.

Tommy wanted to know how it felt to die. He was envious of Wilbur, in a way, because he got to experience it, while Tommy was stuck on mortal land. And it fucking sucked here, in all honesty. Tragedy after tragedy, life was nothing but a never-ending array of misery continuously pulling him deeper into the darkness. His sanity was hanging by a thread, but he couldn’t let himself spiral the same way his brother did. So he shut it out, tried to repress it, and thought about good things. As if those existed.

He let his legs dangle from his bed as he gazed into the infinite nothingness ahead with a flat stare and blank eyes. Slowly, emptiness consumed him, and white blood dripped from the void in his heart. It dawned on him that he had never experienced how it felt to have a home. He ran away from the first one, got kicked out the second, and watched the third burn to a crisp. From fire to snow, he moved further north and as the ground grew colder, so did the ice in his veins. 

A long sigh escaped him, and a puff of fog left his mouth. It was freezing in the house. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, resting his chin on top of it. “I’ll never hug Wilbur like this again,” the thought passed him, and he didn’t realize he muttered it out loud.

Ranboo, who lay on the opposite bed reading a book, shut the pages and placed them on his side, turning his head towards Tommy once it registered what he said. “Tommy, you okay?”

“What do you think? Fucking arsehole.” Tommy spat out and embraced the pillow tighter. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ranboo gave a light chuckle. “You can use me as a stress ball for all I care, whatever makes you feel better.”

“Nothing can make me feel better, to be honest,” the younger shoved his face into the feathery softness, speaking in a muffled tone. “Sorry that I’m being such a mood killer. I know I’m usually a lot… Bouncier, or whatever the fuck.”

Ranboo’s lips pursed. He was disheartened by the things he faced, and took Tommy’s grief to his heart almost like it was his own. “Do you, uh, want a hug? Maybe?”

“I- sure.” Tommy shrugged. He heard gentle taps of Ranboo’s footsteps on the floor, and suddenly felt the comfort of his presence pressed against his body as Ranboo wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in. “Thanks,” the blond mumbled into the other’s shoulder in a mournful tone. 

Neither of them spoke for a minute. They allowed the weight of their shared sadness sink deeper into their chests, painting the room in greyscale with a fickle brush. Ranboo felt Tommy’s soft, slow breaths warm on his shoulder, and it forced his eyes to shut tight from the overwhelming wave of sadness pouring down his throat, salty like the sea. 

“It hurts, Ranboo.” Tommy could merely whisper. “It doesn’t feel real, but it hurts so much,” tears pricked his eyes and his voice cracked once he started to speak. Their sting exacerbated the soreness from days of non-stop crying. 

“I know.” Ranboo murmured into Tommy’s hair as he held him close. “But you’re going to be okay.”

“The day he died I thought I hated him, that’s how angry I was,” Tommy’s breath hitched through sobs, and he wiped the wetness of his face with the palm of his hand. “But I could never hate him. He was my brother.”

“It’s perfectly normal to feel angry when things are bad… I would be pissed off at the Universe and scream to the sky for a bargain.” The brunet continued in a futile attempt to console the crying boy. 

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry for crying,” Tommy stifled his tears. 

“Stop apologizing.” Ranboo breathily laughed. “Hey, how about we go hang out with Techno for a bit?”

“Why not Tubbo? I want Tubbo.”

“Tubbo is asleep, remember?” If they were quiet enough, they could hear the other boy’s snoring from the other room through the walls. 

Tubbo had fallen asleep on Techno’s bed, sneaking into his bedroom to use the comfortable mattress before Techno could. And even though Techno wasn’t too fond of the kid of presidential descent, he didn’t have the heart to wake him up when he saw how relaxed he was under the covers.

“Fine, we can get Techno. Maybe he can stab me out of my suffering from those extra sharp knives of his.” Tommy rolled the sarcasm off his tongue. He shivered at the flashing memory of catching Wilbur in the act of injuring himself, the image made him nauseous. 

“There will be no stabbing, just stories and anarchist propaganda probably.” Ranboo sighed and pulled himself off the bed, letting Tommy grab his hand to help himself stand up. “C’mon, Techno is a good guy. I know he wasn’t the best to Wilbur, but… He loved him, truly. He told me so.”

“Good to know he confides in you more than his own brothers.” Tommy sniffled, softly groaning as he cleaned off the remaining tears off his cheeks.

“I’m really not enjoying this family dynamic you all have got going,” Ranboo said and stepped out of the bedroom, Tommy following in his steps. 

“It’s shit, Ranboo. You can say it. We’re absolute shit. I’m deluded with unrealistic ideals of heroism, Techno is a pretentious arse who thinks he can get away with anything because he has good fighting skills, Wilbur i-  _ was  _ manic and too dramatic for his own good, and our father is a literal abuser who beat his son to near-death and left him locked in the basement for days. We love the family dynamic, truly we love it.”

“Hey, at least you’re… You know what, never mind.” Ranboo realized he had nothing to add, stopping himself mid-sentence. “

Tommy could only give him an empty glare and walk in sluggish steps towards Techno, who sat in the corner of the living room sharpening a sword. He didn’t move his gaze from the weapon, his hands effortlessly polishing the blade, and only when the kids’ footsteps appeared closer to his ears did he look up to face them.

“What do you two want?” He pretended to be annoyed. 

“Company,” Ranboo said, making slight eye contact for a brief second and swiftly looking away. “Read us a story, maybe?”

“I’m workin’ here, you do it.” Techno sighed and pointed at the ruby sword on his lap.

“You know I’m a slow reader, I practically just learned.” Ranboo protested. “Also, Tommy could use some lifting of spirit.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy mumbled with bare coherence, powerless as he stared at the floor with his arms crossed. 

Techno thought about it for a moment. There was a pleading undertone to Ranboo’s voice that he was somehow able to decipher, and a part of him might have noticed the puffiness of Tommy’s eyes that were red from crying. “Hm.” He hummed. “I guess I can read one story.” He saw the boys’ faces light up, and immediately knew it was the right choice.

They gathered round him, Ranboo bringing a blanket from the bedroom, and he dropped his sword on the floor to replace it with a book of Greek myths that he held close to his heart. Tommy sat criss-cross and forced a glimmer of enthusiasm to spark inside of his chest. He had always loved Greek myths, the stories of heroes and saviors. 

“Alright, here we go. The story of Theseus…”

Somehow, he wasn’t able to pay attention to anything Techno was saying, and the man’s voice quickly turned into a background blur, a white noise filler to alleviate the thoughts wrapped around his head.

But it helped, it still helped. He had somebody by his side to get him through this. He wasn’t going to let grief control him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorta psychological mid-chapter before we get into the last piece of huge plot basically


	23. Magic and Mistakes

Soft rays of morning sunshine tapped against George’s eyelids and stirred him awake. As he slipped into consciousness, he was greeted with a gentle hum of the brisk forest breeze rustling the spruce trees, and he rubbed his eyes to chase away blur from his vision. Rolling on his back in the icy grass, he looked up towards the sky. It was clearer than ever, not a single cloud dancing across the blue expanse, in spite of the chilly bite of winter air. He wasn’t sure why, but its clearness saddened him, exacerbated the feeling of emptiness that crawled up his chest to wrap its muddy fingers around his neck. Perhaps it was the fact that he had always liked the sun, but it meant nothing when he had no one to enjoy it with. 

He had no idea how many days it had been since he abandoned the Dream SMP, but he knew the answer bordered on five. Or ten? Fifteen? Time was a jumbled mess in his head. He was wandering aimlessly, almost manic in his futile attempts to find something,  _ anything  _ to heal his heartbreak. Crossing the river, he found himself on the Rapids territory, hoping to run into Karl or Alex who he remembered from the time Dream had tried to conquer their territory and miserably lost. 

He needed Karl’s help. The man was an expert at making history stay remembered, keeping it all in a personal library, and to top it all off - he dealt with dark magic. George was ready to exploit that power to take down Dream’s monarchy. It was the only thing in his mind, really, and he wished that somebody else shared his anarchist beliefs about dissolving the factions and creating one large, borderless piece of land without a ruler on a pedestal. 

The crackle of grass under his back made him relax into its softness, and the light murmur of wind helped soothe his chronic headaches. He scratched his arm, forgetting it was injured from a recent fight with three skeletons. Hissing at the pain, he noticed a few drops of blood trickle down the half-reopened wound. Maybe he should have brought bandages with him. 

“Hello?” 

A voice from behind came to startle him, and his shoulders twitched as he sat up on the ground. Whipping his head around towards the source of the sound, he was suddenly face to face with a bright blue-eyed man with hay-coloured hair falling over his forehead. George eyed him top to bottom, taking note of his purple hoodie and the turquoise coat to match the look. It seemed so familiar, but could it have been…

“Karl,” he nearly gasped. “Is that you?”

The man blinked in confusion, crouching down to George’s eye level. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“I’m George, the- the soldier-”

“George from the Dream SMP?” Karl finished for him as he began to remember. “The one who tried to kill me a few years ago?”

“Yes!” George bounced off the floor. “I mean, I’m- I’m sorry about that. Long story. I made friends with a sadist, became king of his nation, he forced me to kill people, I got exiled when I refused to, joined a new nation, betrayed it, came back to the Dream SMP, betrayed it as well, came back to the other nation, watched it burn to death, and now I’m an anarchist.” He rambled on, gesticulating wildly as Karl stared in utter perplexity.

“Whoa,” the shorted man gaped, eyes wide. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“It was a lot to live through as well.” George chuckled. “Anyway, you have nothing to do, right? Do you want to help me take down a tyrant?”

Karl caught a glimpse of the blood dripping down George’s arm, and decided to ignore his rapid tangent that seemed utterly nonsensical to him. He exuded an aura of frenzied, unleashed energy which carried potential danger within it, as if everything was getting to his head and he had no idea how to control the waterfall of emotions he was silently drowning in. “Uh, I think we should tend to your wounds first, and maybe have a cup of tea… You seem very upset.”

“I’m not upset!” The other’s laugh echoed across the hills, and he raised his hands in the air. “I honestly feel great. I am so ready, you don’t even know. I’ve had a while to think, to plan, and you are part of that great plan. Your magic could be of great assistance to us.”

“We’ll talk about it, okay? Just please let me help you before that. Let’s go to my home.” Karl attempted to calm down the unsettling outburst, and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder only to be slapped away.

“Sure,” George vibrated in place. ”Let’s go to your home.” He leaned down to grab his backpack and threw it over his shoulder.

As they began to walk, George eagerly following Karl’s footsteps over the grassland, the awkwardness of silence started to fill the space around them. And neither of them enjoyed it. 

“So, uh,” Karl dared to speak once he realized George was too busy digging through his rucksack to start a conversation. “What’s that new nation you were talking about?”

“Oh, it was so dumb. This man named Wilbur came into the picture and instantly decided to build his own city to protect his friends, but he didn’t realize that Dream would destroy it the first chance he got. L’Manberg, that’s how it was called. I actually trained them for a while. Wilbur and his little brother Tommy are still friends of mine, I think. Well, they probably hate me, but I like them.”

“Why would they hate you?”

“Because I betrayed them, obviously. I switched sides in the middle of a battle and went back to Dream, and Wilbur would’ve died if it wasn’t for this pink-haired guy who came out of nowhere and obliterated the hell out of everyone. He was the best fighter I have ever witnessed in action.”

“Oh my god, Techno was there?!” Karl excitedly interrupted. 

“Huh, so that’s his name.” George hummed with interest. “Wait, you know him?”

“Yes, I think we’re friends! He’s such a cool guy, we talked for hours about magic, and history, and literature, and I made him a coat because he lives in the Arctic. He was looking for his brothers when I met him, did he ever find them? Oh, yeah! He did mention a Wilbur and a Tommy. I’m so happy for him-”

“This is so messed up,” George cut him off. “How is everything connected? Why the fuck do you know Wilbur’s brother? I’m going to lose my mind.” He fidgeted with a pocket knife between his fingers, pulling it out and snapping it closed every two seconds.

“The Universe is fascinating,” Karl sighed with a smile. “Oh and, Techno is very passionate about anarchy. If you need someone with knowledge of magic who  _ isn’t  _ a pacifist and shares your values, he’s the best choice.”

“Seriously?” 

“Yup,” the other nodded. “I’m sure he’ll help you, especially if you’re friends with his brothers. He’s really protective of them, so if you’re nice to them he won’t kill you.”

“Well,” George sucked in a breath, biting his lip. “Our first and only interaction was him chasing me out of L’Manberg because my treacherous actions almost killed Wilbur, so… I don’t think he’s too fond of me. But I will try to talk sense into him, especially now that Wilbur is safe and sound with him in the north. Assuming they live together. I don’t think they had anywhere else to go after L’Manberg burnt down.”

“Hm,” Karl glanced at the sky in thought. “Why do you even want to destroy your ex-country?”

“To achieve peace and get revenge.” George shrugged.

“That sounds very contradictory. If you’re seeking peace, don’t bring vengeance into it.”

“I literally do not give a crap about what you say. Dream hurt me so fucking much in so many different ways and I want to break him as much as he broke me. And since I know his power means everything to him, so I’ll take it away! It’s really that simple. This was never my first goal, but it comes as a beautiful icing on top of the cake that is eternal peace among the factions. Without Dream, there will be no wars. No one else has caused as much trouble as that selfish fucker. Yet he blames everything on me and Wilbur.” George felt the anger build up in his throat, and he couldn’t help but let a couple of sizzling tears burn his cheeks. “Do you know who Wilbur even is? He’s just a runaway hiding from his past who built a fucking tent on Dream’s territory with his little brother! How is that dangerous? How is that troublemaking? I first found him crying in a sweet berry bush begging not to be killed, and Dream still has the audacity to say that he’s the root of all of our problems! He’s so- god,” he trailed his fingers down his face and laughed through the sobs. “I hate him so fucking much.” A painful whisper rolled off his tongue.

“The only thing Techno told me about his brothers was that they went through a lot of pain and he hoped they were okay now.” Karl thought back to their exchange. “I feel so bad for all three of them. I wish I could offer them therapy or something, I think they might need it.”

“Everyone who’s ever been in contact with Dream needs therapy.” George pulled out a silk handkerchief from his bag and used it to wipe his face.

Karl gave him a somber smile, and pointed towards a small cabin that glimmered in their path. “We’re here,” he said in a quiet tone and let George follow him towards the house. They climbed up a wooden stairwell and found themselves in front of a pair of light blue-dyed wooden doors. 

“Wait,” George stopped as Karl placed his hand on the doorknob. “How come you’re allowing me into your home just like that? We barely know each other, and our first meeting was me trying to slit your throat in the name of conquest.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna hurt me,” the shorter giggled and opened the door, letting them both inside.

The cabin was decorated with lanterns and candles in a multitude of soft colour schemes. There was only one sofa, and an oak coffee table in front of it, no dining room or large chairs. The strong aroma of incense flooded his nostrils, pulling him into the comfort of the house. This must have been the coziest place in which George had ever set foot. It melted away his surge of erratic energy in an instant, filling his chest with a dark violet feeling of tranquility.

“Wow.” George sighed in surprise, walking over to the sofa in silent footsteps and throwing himself into its fluff. 

Karl joined him shortly after, but he made sure to grab some bandages from the cupboard first. “Give me your arm.” He ordered, crouching in front of George. The other obeyed.

“Thanks,” he muttered while Karl wrapped gauze around his untreated injuries. It hurt a little, but he grit his teeth through it and made no sound. After all, he had been a soldier for too long to get bothered by little wounds. “I want to be angry, but this room doesn’t let me.”

“Yeah, that’s totally not because I put an unbreakable spell of serenity on it,” Karl chuckled. “You physically can’t be mad in here. You can be sad, but not mad. Anger is the root of all evil, in my opinion.”

“I think government and power corruption are, actually.” George gazed into the blue light of the coffee table lantern as his mind was lulled into its peace, slowing his heartbeats and washing away the previous rage. “Dream and I began our nation as friends, and I thought it was meant to be a place for us to grow up together and have fun, but he saw an opportunity to become the greatest ruler and he took it. He was always a little twisted and sadistic, yes, and I fell for his fake kindness at the start. Still, I believed he could be good deep inside. And with each day, I was proven wrong again and again. He can’t be good, he will never be good to anyone. I was manipulated.”

“It’s okay to feel heartbroken,” Karl said, treading on sensitive territory. “But revenge isn't the way to go about it. It creates a cycle of hatred and never-ending violence, which doesn’t do justice to either party involved. Everyone always thinks the best way of getting closure is by destruction, but doesn’t that just create more needless chaos? You can watch your past burn and think that will help you move on, but you can’t burn the memories from your brain. What you can do is learn to cope with them in a healthy way and create a system of support around yourself, instead of a system filled with vengeful creatures. Team up with Techno, sure, and kill Dream, but you won’t feel good about yourself. It’ll be yet another person’s blood on your hands that you won’t be able to scrub out of your mind. You don’t want to stoop to the same level as the tyrants and the sadists, trust me.”

George exhaled, tiredness burning his eyes. “I guess you’re right… Dream burnt L’Manberg out of revenge.”

“Exactly! And you don’t want to be like him, do you?”

“But I already am, Karl. I’m a murderer, I’ve killed so many innocent people because of him. The only way to even it out is if I ruin him, too. Strip him of power and make him watch his nation fall apart.”

“If you think that’s the correct way to act,” Karl shrugged, “then I won’t stop you. But I don’t think it is.”

“I literally wish for peace above all, and you’re still too much of a peacemaker for my taste. Don’t you ever get the urge to burn everything to the ground because of all the suffering the world has caused you?”

“Nope. If I’m stressed, I light some candles and read a book. Arson isn’t really my thing.”

“You are so peculiar.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The snowstorm only grew stronger as days passed. Dream couldn’t handle being stuck in such a tiny place for so long, and frustration filled him to the brim once he realized he wasn’t able to go back to his country and notify the people about his longer absence. The nation was temporarily abandoned by its ruler, not knowing where in the world he was. Nobody knew about his secret Arctic base, not even Sapnap. And just like a cherry on top, he was trapped in here with Wilbur, a permanent reminder of his past. Each night, the nightmares left him sleepless, and he had already broken three mugs in fits of rage. Wilbur would always flinch whenever he raised his voice, aggravating Dream’s anger even more until he backed the younger into a corner and held a knife against his throat on impulse.

This snowed-in lockdown was not helping their already damaged mental state, not at all. They trembled with pent-up emotion, Dream bouncing his leg in frantic motions and fidgeting with a fork in his hands. He sat at the table, glaring at Wilbur who was seated across him wordlessly eating a tiny overbaked omelette. It was the first thing he had seen Wilbur eat since he revived him. The munching, although quiet, was unbearable. Dream felt it scrape against his ears and infest his brain like a billion buzzing bees poking his skull, and it made his skin coil. “Would you stop that?” He grumbled, and the other looked up, blinking in confusion. 

“Stop what?” Wilbur mumbled with his mouth full and continued to chew on his food.

“The fucking chewing, oh my god,” Dream raised his hand in the air and stabbed the fork into the table, making Wilbur jump. “It’s so annoying, it feels- it feels like an unscratchable itch.”

“Oh.” Wilbur swallowed a final bite and put down his fork on the scraped plate. “I understand, sorry.” He knew how it felt, being flooded by unwanted sensations and noises with magnified volume. It was utter torture, and Tommy was the only person who had ever sympathized. No one else understood why his bones vibrated at specific sounds, or why he’d feel sick in contact with certain textures. Except Dream, apparently. That was a strange finding.

“And stop being so fucking nice to me.” Dream spat out. “You’re the worst person to be trapped in the middle of nowhere with.”

“Really? I’m the worst? You had the urge to kill me about fifty times just yesterday.” The younger kept his voice low and near silent, afraid that Dream would hurt him if he showed any annoyance, since that had already happened last night - he wasn’t able to stop thinking about Dream throwing a sharp punch at his jaw just because he shouted at him. And Wilbur really couldn’t afford to let himself get hit again, not without flashing back into an internal projection of despair. The bruise on his chin throbbed at the memory, and he ran his fingers over it to stop it from aching.

“How could I not have the urge to fucking kill you? You’re the physical embodiment of everything I despise! I just want this damn storm to end so we can find George, return the world to its natural state, then you can get out of my sight once and for all.” The agitated bouncing of his leg caused his knee to hit the underside of the table, and he let out a quiet groan at the pain shooting through his leg. “And who knows what the fuck is happening in my nation while I’m here! God, if Sapnap does anything stupid I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him. And then you and your entire family for starting this whole mess.”

Wilbur felt small under Dream’s unnerving glare. He knit his eyebrows and zipped his lips, fumbling with the hems of his sleeves after he dropped his hands in his lap, and kept his gaze down. “You can kill me after all of this is done.” He whispered in a broken, hoarse tone. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re so whiny,” Dream shoved his plate aside and leaned against the table. “So whiny and depressive, I can’t bear to listen to that anymore. Just shut up already, I get it! You want to die. No one cares. I don’t care.”

As if Wilbur didn’t know that already. He was completely alone, more than ever before, and he felt no reason to be alive except to protect his family - the family that thought he was dead. Once his deal with Dream would expire, and he was sure that Tommy and the others were safe from Dream’s wrath, he’d erase himself from memory and vanish off the face of the world. His story would end when everyone was safe.

But he wanted his story to end now. It was no longer a manic rush of suicidal impulse, it was a constant click in the back of his mind whispering to him, reminding him of how much he detested this excruciating existence. Just like when he was younger. 

“Wilbur!” Dream barked. “Look at me when I speak to you!”

_ Look at me when you’re spoken to!  _ Wilbur shivered at the words, shutting his eyes tight as he kept his head down. “Dream, please don’t say that,” his voice trembled. “I thought you’d understand that we’ve been through the same shit and are provoked by the same things. Please don’t say that.”

“I do understand, but I don’t give a fuck! I’m angry and you’re the only person here who I can lash out on.”

“Why don’t we just go?” Wilbur shouted, daring to look up at him with teary eyes. “Why don’t we risk it all and walk into the fucking snowstorm? It’d be so much better than breathing your rage-filled air. It smells like pepper in here, it’s- it’s making me feel like I’m made of sand, and little pebbles, and…” He pulled on his hair, dragging it down his forehead, and rubbed the fatigue out of his eyes. Something propelled him to scratch his scars and dig his nails into his arm to reopen the wounds, but he didn’t notice he was doing it until he felt viscous drops of blood on his fingertips.

“We’re going insane,” Dream took a deep breath and groaned into the palms of his hands. “But we can’t go anywhere, we’ll die and get nothing done.”

_ I’m fine with that _ , Wilbur almost said, but he bit his tongue before he could further Dream’s agitation. Instead, he said nothing and hopped out of his chair, lifting it up so he could silently push it under the dining table. Dream watched his every moment with deadly curiosity. “I’m going out, you coming?” Wilbur grabbed a coat from the hanger and draped it over his shoulders, moving towards the door. 

“What? Of course not!” The older jumped out and ran up to stop him, but Wilbur’s hand was already on the doorknob ready to pull it open. Dream grabbed his arm, but he fought out of his grip.

“I cannot stand it here anymore, Dream,” Wilbur opened the door, letting out a gush of freezing wind slap them in the faces, the whiteness of snow blinding them with its infinity. Howls of the Arctic gale shrieked in their ears like a banshee, but Wilbur didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “It’s not that cold.” He deadpanned and took a step into the inches of snowed land. “See?” He shouted towards Dream over the roars of swirling wind, and raised his hands in the air. It was hard to keep balance on his feet when he was being swung left and right, but he tried his best to bury his legs in the snow and stay in place to fight the air.

Dream stood at the doorstep, shock taped across his face. “It’s literally fucking freezing.”

“It’s not, come outside!” Wilbur gestured towards himself. “Trust me!” He put his palm out and let the snowflakes fall on his skin. Each new crystal that came in contact with his hand began to drip down his fingers, turning into water. He scrunched his face and observed the phenomenon for a couple of seconds. “Huh.” It piqued his interest, and he didn’t understand why it happened - the snowflakes sizzled like his hand was a stove. 

“Wilbur?” Dream stared and turned his gaze down to the floor. “You’re- uh, you’re standing in a puddle.”

The younger averted his eyes to his feet and felt water seep into his boots, drenching his socks and making the uncomfortable fabric stick to his skin with its wetness. They exchanged a glance of confusion and Wilbur took an experimental step farther into the snow. It melted beneath him in an instant. “I’m not cold.” He stated again, this time more bewildered. “What’s happening?”

“Try making a snowball,” the blond suggested and leaned against the doorframe as he watched Wilbur step through inches of snow and leave a new puddle behind each time.

“Okay,” Wilbur crouched down, rubbing his gloveless hands together, and grabbed a slush of white crystals. Before he could mold them into a sphere, they dissipated between his fingers and trickled down his wrists to his sleeves. And he wasn’t freezing whatsoever, not even when he jabbed his hands into the pool of snow. All he ended up with was more water that dampened his clothes. 

“I’m not sure whether we’re both hallucinating or…”

“Or I can melt snow just by touching it.” Wilbur finished for him. “Is this a side effect from being resurrected? Like, being immune to what you died to?”

“Possibly.” Dream took a courageous step into the storm towards Wilbur, but it was a lot harder for him once the frosty air began to bite his skin. He shivered and brushed his arms to create heat, his teeth violently chattering as he barely managed to stand, the wind throwing him around like a paper plane. Wilbur grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close so he wouldn’t fall, and took off his coat to give it to Dream. The blond accepted it without complaint, shoving his arms into the sleeves desperate for warmth, while Wilbur felt fine in his sweater. “How are you not cold?!”

“I don’t know,” Wilbur hummed and blocked the wind from hitting his face. “But this means I can’t freeze myself alive again, which really ruins my plans for the future.”

“You’re going to pave the way to George.” Dream said and met Wilbur’s glassy gaze. 

“I guess you need me more than you thought you did, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the cold never bothered him anyway

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you're enjoying the book so far!  
> title: a beautiful collapse - we lost the sea  
> follow me on twitter! @SootStation


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